


King of Boston

by sun_dance



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: M/M, Mob AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_dance/pseuds/sun_dance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This mission wasn’t on the books. Burns hadn’t given them the orders, official or otherwise. Kelly and his partner were there of their own free will, with instructions to keep their status as FBI agents under wraps. No one was to know they had been there. They weren’t acting on behalf of anyone but themselves.</p>
<p>This was about revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will feature some violence (nothing more graphic than the books). It's based on the idea that rather than joining the Marines, Nick and Mikey joined up with Paddy.
> 
> And a special thanks to [Tristina](tristinawright.tumblr.com) for helping with plot.

In the middle of March, Boston was a fickle city. Some days the wind cut right through, chilled you to the bone. On others, the air was pleasant, just a gentle nip to remind you the sun actually did exist.

Kelly Abbott rubbed his hands together, mentally preparing to leave the warmth of his rental. Although the outside air was frigid, he was on a mission. It involved a boat, a marina, and the head of a local crime organization. The man’s name was Nick O’Flaherty, and Kelly had been watching his boat for hours. The old boss stepped down just over a month ago, which meant that if there was ever a  time to take action, it was now.

Kelly cut the power to the engine and allowed his eyes to adjust. The marina was full, and it lent Kelly the feeling that he was being watched. He tried to ignore it as he started toward the dock, careful in the near pitch-black darkness. His footsteps were silent, and he was certain that there wasn’t a soul around that would be able to see him. He’d watched for over an hour, waiting for the other residents to shut themselves off from the world. Dressed as he was in black jeans and a black t-shirt, he trusted his ability to blend into the darkness.

At five foot ten, Kelly was the shortest guy on his Recon team. He often got shit for it, considering the next tallest guy had two inches on him. What he lacked in size, he made up for in stealth. He could go just about anywhere undetected, even sneak up on his partner back at the Bureau. Tonight was by definition a covert operation.

It was late, well past one in the morning, and Kelly’s heart was beating a familiar rhythm past his ears. Adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his hearing as he hurried down the dock. He slipped onto the _Fiddler’s Green_ and pulled out a garrote, unwinding the slim wire without making a sound. The goal was to be quick about it and leave no bloodshed. All Kelly had to do was suffocate the guy, and he’d done that plenty of times on other missions for Assistant Director Richard Burns. His stomach rolled, and for a moment, he stayed crouched at the back of the boat.

This mission wasn’t on the books. Burns hadn’t given them the orders, official or otherwise. Kelly and his partner were there of their own free will, with instructions to keep their status as FBI agents under wraps. No one was to know they had been there. They weren’t acting on behalf of anyone but themselves.

This was about revenge. That was how it started, anyway. Six months ago, Burns had called them into his office and informed Kelly and his partner – Special Agent Ty Grady – that a member of their Recon team had been murdered. They were thirsty for a manhunt, couldn’t dream of a single soul that could have gotten the drop on Eli.

Once they arrived on the scene in New York, it had gone down a little differently. For at least a few hours they’d fooled themselves into thinking their friend, Elias Sanchez, would have wanted vengeance. His body had been found bloodied and cold, along with overwhelming evidence pointing them in the direction of the Irish mob. It had taken them two days to take out the New York’s head of operations.

After their days as a team, Eli, Ty, and Kelly had all sworn in to the Bureau. Recon hadn’t been a cakewalk, but the FBI was no picnic either, especially as one of Burns’ attack dogs. When there was a threat, one of them was sent to neutralize it. Half the time, Kelly didn’t even know their names, but their faces were branded on the inside of his conscience. They carved out his soul one sliver at a time. _For the greater good_ , he’d been told. _For the greater good_ is what he clung to by his fingertips, envious of Ty’s ability to paint the whole op one color and call it loyalty.

Whether it was loyalty to Burns or the oath they each swore the day they signed up to play at war, Kelly didn’t know. At least this time, he knew why he was there.

Kelly adjusted his grip on the handles of the garrote, pausing to wipe his palms on his pants. It was too late to have second thoughts. He wasn’t sure the new guy would be smart enough to keep guys lined up on the yacht, but he wasn’t one for taking chances. After watching the boat for hours, the only person to come and go had been one man with flaming red curls.

The rocking of the boat helped to settle his nerves and Kelly exhaled. He wanted to be ready, to make it quick; Ty would probably be pissed off that he hadn’t checked in, but his phone was dead. In hindsight, Kelly probably should have charged it before leaving the hotel, but stopping now would only make their job harder. He’d already put his plan in motion by cutting the lights. Before he could summon a reason to leave, Kelly moved deeper into the boat.

He stepped up to the back of the main cabin and pulled open the door. It was unlocked, which shouldn’t make him uneasy, but he felt his pulse falter anyway. He reasoned that it was a boat, in a wealthy marina, and the odds of someone robbing a boat were probably pretty low. Kelly closed the door behind him and listened for another minute or so, holding his breath while he waited for movement. There was a staircase, and judging from the open layout up top, that would be where Kelly needed to go.

He held the wire out in front of him, almost like he could use it as a shield, and descended. This was the worst part of black ops, the moments leading up to the merciless kill. The killing never got easier.

When he reached the bottom level, one end of the boat was washed in darkness. The other end had a sliver of light reaching toward the stairs, and from within, Kelly could hear the sound of water cascading against ceramic.

Kelly swore silently, glancing back up the staircase. He couldn’t fight the feeling that he wasn’t alone, but that wasn’t unusual on missions like this one. After all, he knew for a fact that someone was on the other side of the bedroom door, rinsing off the chill of the city. That someone was most likely a mob boss, which should have made Kelly feel better, but he still felt the usual tightening of his stomach. Even mob bosses had family.

He clenched his jaw and adjusted his grip on the wire. Shoulder first, he edged into the bedroom and gave a cursory glance about the room. There weren’t any visible weapons, but there were a lot of cornered edges he could easily be thrown against. The bed was unmade, the door to the bathroom left wide open. As Kelly stood there inspecting the room, the water shut off, and before he could blink a very wet man was standing in the doorway.

Naked.

Steam rolled out behind him. He had a towel in one hand and was rubbing it slowly over his hair. When he noticed Kelly, he stopped, green eyes hardening. He stared at Kelly, and Kelly stared back.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the assassin’s mind drawing a complete blank. The red curls were dark and damp and unruly where the towel had already passed, his hard body covered sparsely in more of it. Without Kelly’s permission, his eyes drifted downward, and he forcibly wrenched them back up when Nick O’Flaherty stepped over the threshold.

“Didn’t know I’d have visitors,” he said casually. He lowered his towel and shook it out, moving into the bedroom with ease. He watched Kelly impassively as he started drying off. Then his eyes slid lower, passing over Kelly’s hands and stopping at his hips. Despite the obvious reason Kelly was there, Nick’s gaze turned hungry. “I’ll assume you aren’t here to rewire my boat.”

“I…” Kelly glanced down at his hands, keeping his body squared with Nick’s as he backed up a step. Until he was ready to strike, he preferred to keep a safe distance between them. Nick finally wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down at the foot of the bed, propping one leg on the other. “No, I’m not,” Kelly said lowly. He met Nick’s eyes again and tightened his grip on the garrote.

“Then what are you here for? Can I get you a drink?” He asked, his tone infuriatingly light, though Kelly understood why. You didn’t become a mob boss if you were easily spooked. You had to kill a lot of people – climb a lot of proverbial ladders – to get anywhere with the mob, nevermind rise to the top.

Kelly pursed his lips, knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands. “I’m sorry to have to do this, O’Flaherty.”

“Do what?” Nick asked icily, and the casual nature of the room suddenly shifted. The hair on Kelly’s arms stood on end.

“I’m here to take care of some business.”

“Well, as luck would have it, I’m a businessman.” Nick leaned back on one hand, beckoning with the other as if urging Kelly to continue.

“Wrong kind of business,” Kelly said softly. He started forward, calculating the most likely counter-attack the mobster would use and weighing his options. He moved no more than half a step before a pair of large arms seized him from behind. Kelly let out a shout as his feet left the ground and followed his first instinct, which was to throw his head back. His aim was true, but his assailant merely grunted and tightened his grip.

“Nice of you to show up, Xander,” Nick drawled, rising to his feet. He tightened the towel at his waist and watched as Kelly wriggled in an attempt to slip free.

“Xander, huh?” Kelly grunted, throwing his head back against the man’s face for a second time. Xander released him and staggered back as Kelly dropped to a crouch on the floor. By the time he turned around, Xander was charging towards him, head down. He caught Kelly around his middle, his shoulder colliding with Kelly’s sternum. The tackle sent them both sprawling on the floor, Xander’s dead weight sitting square on Kelly’s chest. Kelly barely managed to toss the garrote aside before they landed.

There was blood streaming from Xander’s nose, but they both ignored it. He moved up Kelly’s body and straddled his chest, glancing swiftly up at Nick. Kelly’s arms were still free, and even as he fought to get his breath back, he reached for Xander’s chest.

The man was huge, even by Kelly’s standards. He used his hands as a distraction, jabbing at any and all pressure points he could reach. There were a few on the torso that Kelly used to his advantage; one inside each elbow and one to the inside of each rotator cuff. He hit each in succession, ending with a jab for Xander’s throat that he pulled at the last second.

Xander reared back from the attempt, and Kelly seized the opportunity to throw his legs up and hook his ankles around Xander’s neck. He snarled as Kelly pulled him down, just barely managing to throw an arm out and prevent his head from slamming into the floor. Xander rolled off Kelly and came up in a crouch, his teeth bared as he rubbed at his shoulder.

Kelly mirrored his position, weighing his options. He could kill them both, though he was fairly certain Nick was only humoring their sparring. He could make a run for it, but he doubted he could get as far as the dock without taking fire. He could try to talk his way out of it. From the entertained tilt to Nick’s head and Xander’s body, coiled and ready to strike, Kelly was starting to feel like he was being toyed with.

Xander moved closer, and as he did Kelly noticed the sheath strapped to the inside of his wrist. It wouldn’t have been visible if Kelly hadn’t jabbed at his arm, hiking the long-sleeved shirt up an inch. Kelly eyed the knife handle warily, but didn’t have long to figure out what to do about it. Xander charged again, this time tackling Kelly through the open bedroom door. They tumbled together into the narrow hallway, with Xander landing on his stomach and Kelly next to him. He was up before Xander had landed, but he didn’t get very far.

The body guard’s fingers curled into the back of Kelly’s jeans and hauled him backward, prepared to jump on Kelly as soon as he landed. Xander was big, but Kelly was fast. He rolled right over his shoulder and landed in another crouch, and realized he was missing something. Xander held up the knife Kelly kept at his side and smirked, tossing it back over his shoulder. It skittered across the carpet and thudded into Nick’s bed frame.

“Fucker,” Kelly muttered. He had his back to the stairs as Xander rushed again, head catching him right in the center of his chest. Kelly landed hard, the corner of a step digging into his back. One of his arms was pinned underneath him, and the other wasn’t enough to keep Xander’s hand from finding his throat.

A moment of panic settled at the back of Kelly’s head, but it didn’t last long. He jammed the palm of his free hand into the crook of Xander’s elbow, breaking its locked position. Xander grabbed for Kelly’s shoulder, fisting a hand in the fabric. Kelly turned his arm and elbowed Xander in the face, knocking him off balance just enough for Kelly to draw his knees up and kick Xander’s chest.

There was a ripping sound as Xander stumbled back into the wall and lingered there, holding on for support. Kelly caught his breath, Xander narrowed his eyes; they both pushed off and met in the middle. Xander attempted to hook an ankle behind Kelly’s calf, but Kelly knew he needed to end it or Xander would end him. He grabbed Xander’s shoulder and pulled, sidestepping, then slid his hand to Xander’s wrist. He put his palm against Xander’s shoulder blade and wrenched his arm back. Xander cried out and fell to one knee.

Kelly kicked Xander over and put a knee in the center of his back. A single twist, and he could dislocate Xander’s arm. His chest heaved. He was weaponless; in hindsight, leaving his gun in the car to prevent a noisy kill wasn’t the greatest idea. Mistake number one. He’d allowed the boss’s bodyguard to get the drop on him; mistake number two. He now had one man secure while the other—

He looked up sharply and stared down the wrong end of a double barrel shotgun. From the other side, Nick watched, entirely unperturbed. Kelly’s stomach turned.

“Did you get that out of your system?” Nick asked casually, as if he didn’t have a loaded weapon pointed right at Kelly’s head. Swallowing, Kelly nodded. “Good. Please let my useless bodyguard off the floor,” Nick spat.

Kelly looked back down at Xander, whose broad shoulders were still twisted under his hands. He gave Xander’s arm a brutal twist, one that would leave his shoulder sore for days, and got to his feet as Xander’s snarled into the carpet.

“That wasn’t nice,” Nick said, smirking. “Sorry about your shirt.”

Kelly glanced down, noticing the wide rip along his shoulder. The torn sleeve had slipped down, revealing the top part of the anchor and snakes that covered his right shoulder. Without remorse, Kelly ripped the sleeve the rest of the way off, shoving the useless fabric into his back pocket.

Nick raised his eyebrows, glancing over the scroll at the bottom of the tattoo. “Now that you’ve had your fun, let’s have a drink.” He turned into his bedroom and set the shotgun on the bed, changing out his towel for a black silk robe. He wound it around himself and picked up the shotgun again, then nodded toward the stairs.

Kelly wasn’t wild about turning his back on a gun, but he knew better than to argue. He glanced over at Xander, who had gotten to his feet and was holding his shoulder with a snarl. Tossing him a smirk, Kelly started back up to the main cabin, feeling the gun trained between his shoulder blades at every step.

Nick made himself comfortable at the corner of the couch in the salon, the shotgun sitting next to him. Kelly sat at the edge of the chair across from him, his back ramrod straight and his hands laid against his thighs. He could hear Xander moving about the kitchen and muttering in what sounded like Spanish. Nick lounged, watching Kelly the entire time. He didn’t look terribly concerned or even tense. In fact, his eyes were doing a lot more roaming than Kelly had first realized. It made his skin crawl, the way Nick’s eyes traced over his bicep and across his chest. It also made something twist in his gut. Something not entirely unpleasant.

Not soon enough, Xander returned. He had two scotch glasses half full of amber liquid, two ice cubes in each, and a pack of frozen peas. With a sneer he thunked one on the arm of Kelly’s chair and handed the other to Nick, then slumped down next to his boss and pressed the peas to his shoulder.

“Take some Tylenol, you’ll feel better,” Kelly smirked.

“Fuck off,” Xander muttered, kneading his shoulder through the peas. His words came out in a thick Spanish accent. Kelly shrugged at him.

“If you’ve got a compression wrap, that’ll work, too.”

“How do you know that?” Nick asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. Kelly looked from Nick to Xander, and back, trying to figure out how to answer the question. He licked his lips.

“I was a medic in the Navy.”

Nick snorted and gave Xander a skeptical glance, then shook his head. “If you say so, Doc.”

Xander rolled his eyes and glared at his shoulder, shifting it experimentally. He grimaced again and scowled down at the floor.

Nick sat forward, holding his scotch aloft in front of his lips. His green eyes glittered. “So, Navy. What can we do for you?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The man talked his way expertly through Nick’s interrogation, if he could even call it that. It was more of an interview. He didn’t touch the glass sitting by his elbow, the amber liquid becoming lighter the more the ice melted. Nick frowned at it, but didn’t say anything. If the man didn’t want to drink, he didn’t have to, although Nick didn’t want to examine why he felt slighted.

“If you won’t tell me why you’re here, maybe you can tell me who sent you,” Nick tried, not for the first time. They’d been sitting for over an hour, and in that time Xander had gotten up to refill Nick’s glass a handful of times. Each time, the bodyguard had made noise about his shoulder, but Nick had no sympathy.

“Someone who doesn’t like you,” the Corpsman replied. Nick admired his gall, his gaze drawn every so often to the smirk playing at his lips. What struck him were the eyes, changeable and full of life. His skin prickled every time Xander passed by to get him a scotch, thereby obscuring the view for all of five seconds.

Nick tilted his head, his gaze traveling over the stranger for the thousandth time that evening. The tattoo over his shoulder had captured Nick’s interest, piqued his curiosity. The man’s arms were well built, and just watching him wrap his ankles around Xander’s neck told him more than he wanted to know about the man’s flexibility.

It irked him that he had no drive to torture. Nick was known in the organization for being a cold and ruthless killer. When Paddy needed information, Nick was who he sent to get it. Blood didn’t bother him. Neither did the screams.

The man sat perfectly still, not moving once. He didn’t even scratch an itch, and the lack of fidgeting led Nick to wonder if he wasn’t nervous. If he’d done any kind of research, he had to know what Nick did; he had a reputation, after all. But Nick had no intention of interrogating the intruder.

At long last, Nick pursed his lips and set his empty glass down on the coffee table.

“If you aren’t going to tell me anything useful, you might as well just get off my damn boat.”

The man blinked at him slowly, his fingertips pressing into his thighs. Nick’s lips twitched. Those eyes Nick already liked too much flitted to Xander, and then the shotgun, and Nick could practically see the gears turning.

“Now,” he growled, though the threat was empty, “before I change my mind.”

He stood, nearly knocking the full scotch glass over in his haste. Nick rose gracefully, leaving the gun on the couch, and followed him to the back of the cabin. He figured that if he asked for a name, he wouldn’t get one, so he simply gave him a shove out the door and laughed when the assassin stumbled.

Nick watched him ascend the ramp at the end of the dock. Even in the darkness, he could make out his silhouette, shoulders hunched against the cold.

He frowned and scratched at his chin. Normally, Nick would’ve just shot him and let that be the end of it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was going on.

He turned away from the cabin door and shut it behind him, taking the extra four seconds to turn the deadbolt. It wasn’t enough to stop a determined intruder, but after having his life threatened, it made him feel better. He walked back into the salon and sat back down on the couch, listening to Xander move about the boat.

The man was beginning to test Nick’s patience. Antonio de la Vega had sent him up from Miami as an insurance policy, which was a bad enough insult on its own. He had to give Xander credit for holding off the Corpsman. Had it been Nick in that fight, he probably wouldn’t have walked away, let alone been breathing at the end of it. Whoever was after him was getting serious, and Nick was starting to wonder if he needed to hire more experienced muscle. Whatever the assassin’s background, it didn’t help his image any for Xander to wind up face-down in the carpet. If word got out, he’d be facing more serious issues than an attempt on his life.

What if Xander had thrown the fight? For such a big man, Nick couldn’t help feeling something was amiss.

There had been others that Xander had handled capably, but those weren’t the ones Nick was worried about. He was beginning to wonder if de la Vega had sent his men to spy. Above all else, Nick hated being lied to. Skirt the truth, or withhold information, but an outright lie made his blood boil. In the treacherous game he played, Nick needed to be able to trust those he worked with. The thought that Xander was possibly going to let him get killed had Nick on edge. It worried him more than seeing the Corpsman in his doorway.

Xander emerged from the pilothouse carrying an ace bandage. Nick watched as he took a seat in an armchair and removed his shirt, keeping his thoughts to himself.

For now.

∞

Kelly stalked back to his car, fuming at his own stupidity. He knew better than to think for himself, and if he’d just taken action, he wouldn’t be sporting a ripped shirt. He’d be heading back to the hotel to collect Ty and get on the next flight home.

Instead, Kelly drove back to the hotel in pure silence. He didn’t even bother turning on the heat, choosing instead to suffer the cold. It was almost three when he let himself back into the room, unsurprised to find Ty sitting with their case file for Eli in his lap. He looked up sharply, his hand on his Glock, but relaxed once he realized it was Kelly coming into their room.

Kelly slammed the door shut and immediately kicked off his boots, his shirt soon to follow.

“You’re late,” Ty groused, rising from the armchair he’d dragged over to the window. He tossed the manila folder down on his bed and stretched.

“No shit,” Kelly growled back, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor. He stripped down to his boxers and walked over to his bag, pulling out his dopp kit.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Ty demanded. He rounded the end of his bed, quickly glancing over Kelly for signs of injury. Seeing none, he set his hands on his hips; Kelly was thankful the bruises hadn’t had time to form yet. He could still feel Xander’s hand at his throat and knew there’d be a light handprint there for at least a couple of days.

Kelly sniffed. “Well, I was watching O’Flaherty all afternoon and evening, like we discussed. He was alone, so I went to pay little _Nicky_ a visit.” He refused to meet Ty’s eyes. He dropped his kit on the bed and bent down, rummaging through his bag for clean clothes.

“Yeah? Well, how’d it go?” Ty crossed his arms, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Obviously you’re alive. Is he dead, or are we gonna have pissed off Irish mobsters crawling all over the city?” He shifted his weight, watching Kelly’s agitated ruffling. He kept his distance.

“The mob is always pissed off,” Kelly muttered.

“That’s beside the point. Did you take him out or not?”

“No, Grady, he isn’t dead! There was someone else there.” Kelly straightened from his bag. He finally met and held Ty’s gaze for a long moment; then he swore and deflated, hanging his head as he set his hands on his hips. “He’s got a goddamn bodyguard. Some big guy named Xander with a Spanish accent thicker than your leg. He’s _definitely_ not from Boston, but he’s there. Nick didn’t seem all that fond of him, though. Could be something there.”

“Could be a babysitter,” Ty suggested, rubbing at his chin. “Maybe we should tail him tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Kelly muttered. “Why would Nick need a babysitter?”

“New boss? Old ties want to make sure old deals are still in effect.” Ty shrugged, sitting down on Kelly’s bed. “My main concern is who sent him. I have no idea which organizations have ties here. We’re flying blind on this one, Kelly.”

Kelly frowned, wondering if they were even allowed to call Burns for information. “Yeah. Well, we’ll try to find a lead tomorrow. I need a fucking shower.” Kelly picked up his kit and clothes, heading into the bathroom. As he locked the door, he couldn’t stop thinking about the mob boss that should’ve been dead.

He couldn’t get the man’s freckled chest and arms off his mind. It was burned into his vision, the droplets of water that had rolled down his broad chest and disappeared into the dark red thatch of hair at his groin. For whatever reason, Kelly wanted nothing more than to lick them off. It made his stomach churn, the idea that he could find a ruthless killer like Nick O’Flaherty any kind of attractive.

Kelly stood under the hot spray and dropped his head, willing his mind elsewhere. His thoughts kept drifting back to the pale skin littered with tattoos, and he couldn’t stop wanting a closer look. A much closer look, preferably with his teeth and tongue. He wanted to map out the trail of freckles across Nick’s abs, trace the tattoos that stood out stark against his pale skin. Kelly groaned in defeat and turned, leaning on his arm against the wall of the shower. He wrapped his other hand around his cock and bit down on his forearm to keep from calling out when he came.

∞

Zane had to work at wrapping the ace bandage around his shoulder. It was awkward applying it himself, but he wasn’t in the mood to ask Nick for help. No doubt the bastard would only throw it in his face that he’d lost the fight, and he didn’t feel like having his ass handed to him and getting chewed out in the same night.

Nick sat and watched as he started over multiple times. The shotgun still sat beside him on the couch, and Zane was hyper aware of it as he sat there muttering curses under his breath. It was a model that had been passed down through the family, not that Nick had much sentimental value toward it. The gun was reliable. He kept it wherever he slept, and it was in pristine condition from the religious cleaning regimen.

Zane glanced at Nick as he finally got the wrap just right. He put the finishing touches on it and gave an experimental swing of his arm. The bandage restricted his movement a little, but the throbbing had dwindled. He picked up the bag of peas from the coffee table and put them back on his shoulder. Nick wasn’t looking at him anymore, but down at the shotgun, his long fingers trailing over the double barrel. Zane sat back and propped his ankle over his knee, trying to read his temporary boss.

“What is it, Xander?” Nick murmured finally. After nearly a year, the name was starting to get under Zane's skin. It still didn't feel like _his._  Nick rose to his feet, shotgun still held in one hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Zane eyed it warily. Ever since the Cartel had sent him up to Boston to oversee Nick’s takeover, he’d felt uneasy. The man didn’t like him, and Zane didn’t trust Nick as far as he could throw him. With a tweaked shoulder, that wasn’t very far. Nick raised the shotgun and set it across his shoulder, barrel pointed away from Zane. It eased the clench in his gut, but only slightly.

“I’m not sure how that guy managed to get on the boat undetected. I thought you had security here. And who put a hit on you? Whoever put it there has a pretty big target on your back if he’s – what did he say he was? SARC?” It was one of the few pieces of information the assassin had given.

“It’s a Marine thing.” Nick waved his hand, sighing as he turned toward the stairs. “Besides, you were my security.”

“Okay, so why is someone sending a fucking Marine after you?” Zane continued, following after the redhead. He was two steps behind and didn’t plan on letting it go. “Better yet, why’d you let him leave? Should’ve just killed him on the boat and dumped his—”

Nick spun around at the foot of the stairs, his hand at Zane’s throat faster than he could blink, and cut him off mid-sentence. He shoved Zane against the wall and brought the shotgun up, shoving the butt end of it into Zane’s injured shoulder. Nick’s eyes were hard and a deep, marbled green, his mouth set a firm line.

“The next time you feel like questioning my decisions,” he said lowly, fingers squeezing Zane’s windpipe a little harder. He waited for Zane to meet his gaze before continuing. “Don’t.” Leaning in, Nick set his lips against Zane’s ear; were it not for Zane choking, it might’ve been an intimate gesture.

Zane’s skin crawled; he could feel Nick’s breath on his skin, feel the heat emanating from his body. Nick ground the shotgun harder into his shoulder, but when Zane opened his mouth to cry out, he couldn’t make a sound. There wasn’t any air for it.

“Understand?” Nick hissed. Zane could only nod, blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision. When Nick let him go, Zane doubled over, coughing as he set his hands on his knees.

Nick turned on his heel, muttering under his breath about the Cartel thinking they had a right to put a babysitter on his boat.

Zane reached for his neck, rubbing at the soreness as Nick slammed his door shut. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and he winced as he rubbed at his shoulder. He turned back up the stairs and paused at the top. Whether Nick had been right in letting the man go or not, Zane didn’t know. If Nick wouldn’t listen to his warnings, he’d find something for him to take seriously. He decided to do some research while licking his wounds; he wanted to know what he was going to be defending Nick from. He wanted to know what to prepare for.

He shook off the lingering unease from Nick’s assault. Zane had a tendency to question things that weren’t his place to question. He knew better, but sometimes he needed a reminder. Nick knew what worked, and Zane wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

If Nick knew what he’d been up to, why it had taken him longer than it should have to come to his aid, he probably would have shot Zane without batting an eye.

Skin itching, Zane shrugged off his thoughts and headed into the kitchen for a sandwich. He sat down at the bar with his laptop and started doing some research, stopping occasionally to take a bite.

∞

Once in his room, Nick put the shotgun away, tucking it just inside the door of his closet. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what Xander said to himself when he knew Nick couldn't understand him.

He pulled his robe open and hung it on the bathroom door, pondering his decision. Letting the man go hadn’t been about anything less than preservation. Nick knew just enough about Recon to know that once a team was formed, they rarely disbanded. He didn’t want the rest of the team knocking on his door when the Corpsman was reported missing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the black hilt of the knife Xander had pulled off the assassin. He was curious about the make of it, wondering what kind of knife a Recon man would use after his service. Nick wandered over to the foot of the bed and picked it up. It was an unassuming blade, no longer than the width of his palm. A Smith & Wesson S.W.A.T. blade, according to the inscription on the metal itself. He could feel grooves in the handle that normally wouldn’t be there, and when he turned it over, there were letters carved into it.

 _K. Abbott_ , roughly etched into the handle. The belt clip was well worn, some of the black varnish rubbed away from the many times the knife slid over the lip of a pocket.

“Abbott,” Nick murmured, turning the blade over in his hands. He flicked it open and shut a few times, testing the slide of the joint. It was well taken care of, that much was obvious. The name, though. It nagged at Nick, tugging on an old memory that seemed determined to cling to the recesses of his mind. Frowning, he closed the knife, laying it on his nightstand as though it were a prize. He pulled open the top drawer and picked up his iPad, setting it on the bed as he opened a new search tab.

As he typed the name into the address bar, he couldn’t stop himself from seeing the man’s eyes. They’d changed over the course of the night; started off a greenish color and by the time he guided the man off his boat, they’d been some variant of brown. Or maybe blue? It had been hard to tell without the marina lights. And he’d spent the entire time in Nick’s salon with a smile, as if his life weren’t hanging in the balance. Nick had to respect him for that.

He frowned down at the screen. There were millions of results. He scrolled past dozens of links to baseball players, spelling bee recipients, and one pig farmer in northern Idaho who’d won a blue ribbon for his spotted hog.

_Two Die in Tragedy_

The headline caught his attention and he clicked the link. There was a picture of a child, maybe ten years old, staring at him from the glowing screen. The kid’s eyes made him pause. They were the same eyes that’d stared at him for over an hour.

_Kelly Abbott, orphaned after parents die in a violent car crash._

Nick lowered the screen to his lap, rubbing at his jaw. He remembered the night his father had died. Even though his mother was still alive, he’d left home. Paddy had taken him in, his initiation considered complete the moment Nick went to him and asked for his help. He’d taken the request to heart, and two days later, Nick’s father was dead. He’d been seventeen at the time.

Severed brake lines, according to the papers. Nick didn’t bat an eye when his mother accused him of cutting them himself. He’d still had bruises on his ribs, a healing black eye. His sisters didn’t forgive him for it, but that was years ago. It was better for them, better for Nick, if his father was taken out of the picture.

Nick shook himself and put the iPad back into the drawer. He had business to tend to at sunrise.

∞

Legs still shaking, Kelly shut off the water. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed for a clean towel, wiping it over his body as quick as he could. He was tired, a little sore from the scuffle, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep and stop thinking about the mob boss with the green eyes. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and left the bathroom.

Ty was still up, the folder moved to the table in the corner. He’d opted for his laptop and had it sitting across his folded legs. He also had a carton of takeout in hand, and another carton was sitting on the nightstand between their beds.

“Ordered some food before you got back, figured you might be hungry.”

“Thanks,” Kelly muttered, tossing his towel over the back of a chair. He sat down heavily on the side of his bed closest to Ty, picking up his food. It was still warm, and when he opened it, the smell of pork fried rice wafted toward him. He smiled slightly and took a bite.

“So,” Ty said, speaking around a mouthful of rice. He set his carton on the bed and moved his laptop aside, the screen angled just enough for Kelly to see. “What’s our next move? Now that they know we’re here."

Red curls and green eyes stared at Kelly, and he looked down into his carton. He cleared his throat, forcing the image from his mind. “We need to take out that bodyguard before we do anything else. If he’s around, he’s in the way.”

Ty nodded slowly. “Sounds like a plan. Got any ideas as to how?”

Kelly shrugged, nudging the pork around as he stirred up the rice. “I might have a couple.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“The Fed left, sir.”

“Son of a bitch.” Julian Cross resisted the urge to kick over one of the sandbags they’d hauled up to the roof of the abandoned house, upriver from where Nick O’Flaherty’s boat sat. He planted his hands on his hips, scowling deep. “Why the Hell didn’t he just kill O’Flaherty? He had the perfect opportunity.”

“Absolutely, sir. He was disarmed during the fight, perhaps he decided it wasn't worth the hassle? It would appear neither of them intends to kill the other yet, considering they let him go.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t solve our problem, does it?”

Preston sighed softly and drew back from the infrared scope he’d been behind all evening, watching. He pushed himself up onto his knees and looked up at Julian, blond hair tossing in the wind. “What do you propose we do?”

The breeze tugged at Julian’s coat as he rubbed a hand over his mouth, staring out at the open ocean. Eventually, he shook his head and sighed. “I don’t fucking know. Those agents were supposed to kill the boss and start a war. That’s what he wanted.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve yet.” Preston rocked back onto his toes and stood up. Julian squared his shoulders, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Oh?”

“There isn’t anything we can do tonight. We’ll hunker down until dawn, get a few hours of sleep.” Preston bent and picked up the hefty scope, leaving Julian to stare at him.

“That’s your big plan? Sleep?”

“In the morning, Nick and his man will go to the warehouse, leaving the boat wide open.”

“What good is an empty boat? And what if the bodyguard stays?”

Preston shrugged. “I just need to get the knife. Whether the bodyguard lives or dies doesn’t matter.”

Julian narrowed his eyes, watching warily as Preston tucked his scope back into its case. "What knife?"

"The one the Corpsman wears constantly, sir."

"You didn't mention a knife," Julian growled, bristling.

"You didn't ask." Preston picked up the scope case and headed toward the ladder at the edge of the roof, facing Julian as he began his descent. He paused, smirking up at Julian from the second rung down. "Sir."

"Just when were you gonna tell me? When I had to go up against him myself?" Julian swung onto the ladder and followed Preston to the small deck, then up the cliff toward the street above, where their car was parked with a sizable arsenal of weapons.

Preston put the scope case in beside his fifty caliber rifle and shut the trunk. He swung toward Julian, ignoring his query entirely. “I’ll get the knife, and we’ll go find Nick’s second in command. Send him a message from Agent Abbott, courtesy of a couple of hitmen.”

Julian thought it over for a long moment, then smiled slowly. “Well. That should get the ball rolling.”

Preston smirked and stood, case in hand. “Indeed, sir.”

∞

Nick received the call while eating lunch and going over the books. He hadn’t believed it until he saw the body with his own eyes. Mikey was closer than blood, had been since before Nick could remember. Now he was dead, and all Nick had to show for it was the knife he’d set on his nightstand in the wee hours of the morning. How it’d disappeared from his boat and ended up in his best friend’s neck, he had no idea, but that was the least of his worries. He’d cleaned off the blood at Mikey’s and decided to take the rest of the day off. Twelve hours since he let Kelly go, and he already regretted it. He went home, rather than back to the warehouse, and not one of his men had a thing to say about it.

The afternoon sun beat through the blinds in the salon where Nick sat, Kelly’s knife resting innocently on the table in front of him. He stared at it impassively, the steel glinting off the sunlight streaming in through the window. He raised his glass and took a sip, lips curling into a snarl as he set it down again.

He knew better than to let dangerous people go. Countless enemies had made attempts on his life, both women and men. Some had even sent children. In the weeks leading up to his takeover of the business, he’d received no less than eleven attempts on his life. All of them had been taken out with relative ease.

Kelly should never have walked off the boat. Nick knew that, but there had been something about him - the way he moved, the way he talked. His composure in the face of a man who had at least six inches on him. He hadn’t said much the night before, sitting across from Nick impassively. Nick hadn’t had a single goddamn reason to let the man go.

But his eyes; they haunted Nick, even hours after the last he’d seen them. Even after the death of his brother, where all signs were pointing to Kelly as the killer.

Nick took another drink, letting the scotch sit on his tongue long enough to numb it. On the one hand, Kelly killed his brother; but on the other, he’d been on Nick’s mind since the moment he spotted him. Had this been some kind of grab for attention? Was Kelly trying to appeal to his lifestyle?

More importantly, if it had been about taking Nick out, why didn’t Kelly kill him when he had the chance? He was SARC. It should have been easy to finish the job. Instead, he'd just stood there, watching everything with those incredible, changeable eyes.

Xander was moving about the kitchen, slamming drawers, opening and closing the fridge and muttering the whole time. He appeared in the doorway with a sandwich, gesturing toward Nick with it.

“You should probably eat something, boss.”

Nick licked his lips, still staring at the knife. “One of mine was killed this morning. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Xander’s shoulders shifted, rolling back defensively. He shook his head. “No.”

“You sure about that? Cause it’s mighty convenient it was one of mine and not one of yours, wouldn’t you say?” Nick looked up, leaning forward to pick up the knife. He closed it as he stood, sliding it into his front pocket.

Xander licked his lips and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say it’s convenient. I would say it’s a pretty big coincidence that the knife that killed Mikey is the same knife I pulled off that Corpsman last night.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You know what I’m trying to say,” Xander huffed, setting the sandwich on the counter. He crossed his arms and frowned. “While I’m here, you’re my boss. At some point, you’re gonna have to trust my judgment. That guy was here to kill you. I don’t know why he stopped.”

Nick rubbed a hand over his mouth. He was well aware of the mistakes he’d made, and he didn’t need Xander standing there as a giant reminder that he’d fucked up. Why wasn't he dead? Or at the very least, in custody? He needed more time, more information. “I want you to go see if there are any rumors floating around town. Anything at all. I want to know who’s sending fucking Recon after me, and why. Understood?”

Xander swallowed and nodded. “ _Entiendo_.”

Nick rolled his eyes, too tired to remind Xander that he preferred _English_. “Get the word out, too. I want our guys looking for that piece of shit. I want answers. Anybody finds him, they bring him to me. Nobody lays a fucking finger on him, either. You got it?”

“I got it.”

“Good. Now get the fuck off my boat.”

∞

Kelly glanced in both directions and stepped off the curb, a bag with two bagels in one hand and a green tea in the other. He crossed the street quickly and slid into the passenger seat of the unmarked car, handing Ty the bagels as he took a drink.

“Don’t see how you can drink that crap.”

“It’s good for you,” Kelly shrugged.

“It tastes like grass,” Ty muttered. He pulled his bagel out and handed Kelly the other before starting the car. “There’s nothing that proves caffeine is bad for you, y’know.”

“Ty.”

“I mean, it’s all relative, isn’t it? Coffee, tea, it’s caffeine either way.”

“Ty.”

Ty blundered on, stuffing a chunk of bagel into his mouth. “Better off going without, y’know.”

“Beaumont!” Kelly shouted, shoving his tea into the cup holder. “The bodyguard just drove past us, so if you’d please get it in gear, that would be nice.”

“Fuck,” Ty growled, dropping his bagel in his lap. He checked over his shoulder and pulled out into traffic, rounding an illegal u-turn that had several cars honking at them. Ty ignored them all, tires complaining as they struggled to keep up with the gas pedal. After an elongated second, the car straightened out. Kelly, unperturbed by the reckless driving habits, pointed out the maroon car.

Xander turned out to be a perfect driver. He obeyed every traffic law, stopped at every yellow light, and didn’t once give them any reason to pull him over. More than once, Kelly had to talk Ty out of doing so illegally.

Tailing him proved fruitless. They wasted a couple gallons of gas driving around the city, keeping far enough behind to go undetected. Xander pulled over in various locations, but was never inside more than a few minutes. Eventually he pulled into a gas station, and Ty slid the car over to the curb a block away.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Ty sighed, leaning on the wheel. He peered ahead, watching the tall man climb out of the low car. Xander slammed the door and pulled out a cigarette, slipping it between his lips as he started the pump. “Fucking idiot,” Ty muttered, glancing over at Kelly. "That shit'll kill him if somebody doesn't pull a bullet through his head, first."

“Maybe we should give up on this guy,” Kelly said uneasily. His gaze was far off, but Ty wasn’t so willing to admit defeat.

“Give up on him?”

Kelly focused his eyes on Ty, frowning. “Well, yeah. I mean, if he’s here, that means O’Flaherty is unprotected. And so is his boat, which means I could go back and get my knife.”

“You lost your knife?” Ty demanded, turning towards him.

“Last night, yeah. That asshole came out of nowhere, took me by surprise. I’d really like to go get that knife.”

“Considering I gave it to you,” Ty grumbled.

“Considering it has my fucking name on it, Ty. Jesus, not everything is about you.” Kelly tossed him a smirk and shook his head gently, his eyes landing back on Xander’s car.

Ty rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s go put a tracker on his car, at least.”

“He’s right there, you got an invisibility cloak?”

“Nerd penalty,” Ty said, raising an eyebrow at Kelly. He pushed open his door, sliding the keys into his jacket pocket as he got out. “He pulled out a cigarette. Only place to smoke is the other side of the building. If you keep watch for me, I’ll be fine.” He wrenched open the back door and pulled a small case toward him, opening it up to take out a small, magnetic disc the size of a Smartie. Kelly glanced back at him, watching him apply the adhesive. “Be right back,” he said, tossing a grin at Kelly.

The Corpsman chewed on his thumbnail as he waited, elbow propped on the door. He tried not to examine his desire to go back to the boat; examining feelings had a tendency to get complicated, and Kelly Abbott didn’t do complicated.

A few minutes later, Ty came jogging down the sidewalk. It was starting to rain, and as he ducked into the driver’s seat, he shook water off his jacket.

“To the marina?” Ty asked, running a hand through his hair.

“If you would.”

Ty nodded and started the car, pulling back into the flow of traffic. They arrived at the marina after just a few directions from Kelly, and he could see the boat from the car. “You need backup?”

“No,” Kelly murmured. “If he’s there, I can take him. If he isn’t, I’m just grabbing my knife, then I’ll head back to the hotel.” Kelly looked away from the line of boats, back at Ty. He sighed and reached under his jacket for his standard issue Glock, glancing down at his hands as he checked the weapon. “Go tail Xander, and call me if anything happens.”

“You, too, Doc. Watch your six.”

Kelly nodded and opened the door, flipping the hood on his sweatshirt over his head. He slipped past the gate with ease and made his way down to the dock, looking back to see Ty just pulling away. Kelly tossed him a salute, even though he wouldn’t see it, and ran lithely down the dock toward the Fiddler. He stepped lightly over the stern rail and crouched, listening to the sound of the waves slapping against the boat and the dock.

Taking a steadying breath, Kelly adjusted his grip on his gun. He waited for his pulse to acclimate and stood, swinging easily around the side of the cabin door. The interior was dark, shades drawn. Kelly had to wait for his eyes to adjust, but it wasn’t long. He took two steps forward and froze, hearing the creak of wood flooring from the kitchen.

Kelly spun quickly and spotted him, standing in the open doorway to the kitchen.

Nick sneered slightly and reached with his free hand, flicking on the lights.

“How’s it going, Nicky?” Kelly asked, eyeing the six shooter leveled at him. He tapped the action of his Glock, tisking softly. “You shoot, I shoot.”

“Is that a promise?” Nick smirked.

Kelly pressed his lips together, eyes quickly searching Nick for other weapons. There was a familiar looking belt clip on his pocket. Kelly swallowed. “Recon don’t make promises.”

“That’s a shame,” Nick murmured, genuine remorse tinging his voice. He clucked his tongue. “Shame about your parents, too.”

Kelly stiffened. “So you know who I am.” Nick shrugged and nodded, adjusting his grip on the six-shooter. “That’s a pretty nice gun you’ve got there. Looks familiar.” Kelly moved the Glock into one hand and slowly reached for the hem of his sweatshirt with the other, pulling the material up to his sternum to bare the six-shooter tattoo that covered his right hip. Just the handle and cylinder were visible above his jeans, but as he watched, Nick raised an eyebrow. He lowered his sweatshirt.

A slow smile stretched across Nick’s lips, and then he raised the barrel of the revolver in surrender. He moved to set it on the counter and looked pointedly at Kelly’s weapon.

“What? Just ‘cause you put yours down, I have to drop mine?”

“It’s only fair,” Nick growled.

Kelly narrowed his eyes and leaned over to set the gun on a nearby shelf. The moment the weapon left his hand, Nick was on him. He seized Kelly’s sweatshirt and threw him against the wall.

Before Kelly could react, Nick closed the distance, fisting a hand in Kelly’s hair and pulling his head back. Wedging his thigh between Kelly’s legs, he claimed his mouth, and Kelly groaned in surprise. Nick’s other hand found his hip as he worked his tongue between Kelly’s lips, sliding up under his clothes until he found skin. He traced over Kelly’s tattoo with his thumb, searing across Kelly’s skin like a brand.

He knew he should knock Nick out now, while he was preoccupied. Pinch the nerve and drop him like they taught in close combat, only this wasn’t combat. This was electricity sparking up his lower back, a slow roll in his gut.

Kelly’s hands snaked up Nick’s chest, skimming over the muscles covered by his shirt. His thumb snagged on one or two of the buttons, and for a moment, he considered ripping them apart. It didn’t seem like such a good idea, considering who the shirt belonged to. He sucked on Nick’s tongue, heart pounding, and tried hard not to think about what he was doing. He preferred to give himself over to the hands holding him in place.

“Fuck,” Nick hissed, pulling back just enough to speak. He stared down into Kelly’s eyes, skimming a hand up his ribs. He slipped down over the taut belly and lower, turning his hand to cup Kelly’s groin. “You want this?” Nick taunted, watching Kelly tilt his head back. He leaned in, biting at the juncture of his neck and soothing over it with his tongue. “I’ll take you downstairs and fuck you so hard, you won’t see straight.”

“Jesus,” Kelly gasped, hands clawing for purchase at Nick’s shoulders. He shouldn’t do this. He should say no, grab his gun. Arrest the guy, shoot him, anything but this. Instead, he pressed his hips forward, looking for more friction, and bit back a whine when Nick took his hand away.

“No,” he growled, taking Kelly’s chin. He glared down at him, at once hating and loving the different colors reflecting in Kelly’s eyes. “You don’t say his name, you say mine.” He leaned in and worked his way into Kelly’s mouth, swallowing his whimper.

Nick drew back again, leaving Kelly’s lips swollen and raw, and finished pulling his sweatshirt off. The expanse of Kelly’s broad chest made Nick pause, taking in the bullet wounds and other faded scars, and the six-shooter lower down. While he looked, Kelly seized his shirt and sent the buttons flying, no longer caring what the mob boss would do. He was almost looking forward to the retaliation; if he was going to break the rules, he might as well make it count.

Kelly looked up to see Nick glaring at him, and he just smirked. “Sorry, did you like that shirt?”

“You’re gonna pay for that, Doc,” Nick growled, wrapping an arm around Kelly’s lower back. He pulled one of Kelly’s legs around his waist, waiting for him to take the hint and wrap the other around as well. Nick kissed him, holding Kelly against the wall with his own body and grinding into him. With his shirt hanging off his shoulders, Nick pulled Kelly away from the wall, his hands sliding under Kelly’s thighs to help support his weight.

“Aren’t you dominant,” Kelly muttered, clinging to Nick’s shoulders. He was along for the ride, and before he had a chance to get his bearings, Nick was kicking open the door to his room. He tipped forward, landing on the bed with Kelly underneath him, and instantly started biting his way down Kelly’s chest. His hands worked at Kelly’s jeans, pulling the button apart and yanking them, along with his boxers, down Kelly’s thighs. Kelly hurried to kick his shoes off before Nick got them all the way off.

As he tossed them to the floor, Kelly scooted up the bed. It was still unmade, pillows scattered along the headboard. Kelly grabbed one, sliding it under his hips as he moved. Nick growled and crawled toward him, pulling Kelly’s leg over his shoulder. He set his hand on Kelly’s hip and held him there as he dragged his nose along the barrel of the gun tattoo. He scraped his teeth over the skin when he reached the hammer of the tattoo, looking up at Kelly as he sucked a mark over the ink.

Kelly’s head dropped back with a groan, his hands fisting in the blankets as a precautionary measure. This no longer felt like a terrible idea, not with Nick’s mouth on him.

He sucked his way down the juncture of Kelly’s thigh and mouthed at his balls, pulling one of them into his mouth. He released it and moved higher, trailing his tongue along the shaft until he could suck the head of Kelly’s cock into his mouth.

Kelly tried to thrust deeper, but Nick’s hand tightened at his hip, keeping him down, and he whined.

“Please - fuck,” Kelly gasped, arching his back. Nick hollowed his cheeks and sank down his cock, tongue working against the shaft. He could feel the flex of Kelly’s hips as he tried to thrust, and Nick moaned around him.

He moved up and down a few times and pulled off with a pop, moving away. Kelly lifted his head in surprise, a plea on his lips, but then he saw Nick opening one of the drawers by his bed. He pulled out a condom and lube and tossed both onto the bed at Kelly’s knee.

“You done this before?” Nick growled, shaking the shirt off his arms. Kelly nodded; he didn’t trust himself to speak without embarrassing himself. “Good. I’m not gonna go easy on you,” he warned, unbuttoning his pants. The last of Kelly’s doubts fled as he looked at Nick’s body. He worked his pants off and stepped out of them before kneeling on the bed again, dropping forward to take Kelly’s hips once more.

He looked up the line of his body, appreciating the view. Kelly’s lips were still red, and he kept biting them, prolonging the effect. His knuckles were white where he gripped the sheets.

Nick smirked and picked up the bottle of lube, coating three fingers generously. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around Kelly once more, brushing his middle finger down Kelly’s crack toward his asshole. He worked one finger in slowly, glancing up to see Kelly’s eyes clenched tight.

He pulled off, pausing at the second knuckle. “Look at me,” he demanded, and waited impatiently for Kelly to drag his eyes open. When he finally did, Nick grunted in approval and swallowed his cock again.

By the time he had Kelly stretched to three fingers, the man was sweating and just about ready to give in. Nick waited, his free hand splayed wide and pressing into Kelly’s hip. He crooked the fingers he had buried and brushed against Kelly’s prostate, grinning in triumph around Kelly as he tried to buck.

“For the love of God, Nick, just fuck me already,” Kelly yelled, trying to pull Nick closer with his ankles. Nick pulled off and withdrew his fingers, ignoring the pitiful way Kelly whined at the loss. He tore open the condom and rolled it on, added a little extra lube, and lined himself up.

Nick pushed slowly, keeping his eyes on Kelly’s face. His head slipped past the ring of muscle and Kelly moaned, planting his feet on the bed. Nick could see what he was trying to do, and he put his hand on Kelly’s hip again, holding him still. He sank, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. Kelly was panting; he wrapped his legs around Nick’s waist, trying to urge him deeper. Instead, Nick pulled back, leaving just the head inside.

As he thrust back in, Kelly howled. Nick leaned over and silenced it with his mouth, starting up a hard and fast pace that would have Kelly screaming in no time.

∞

Ty was going to kill him, but the ache that he felt just about everywhere was completely worth it. Kelly shifted onto his back and groaned, the effort alone sapping his strength.

“Holy fuck,” Kelly said. “I don’t think I can move.”

“So stay,” Nick shrugged. He was sitting up against the headboard, spinning Kelly’s S.W.A.T. knife across his fingers.

“I only came back here for that,” Kelly muttered, watching the mesmerizing path of the knife. He placed his hands behind his head, completely shameless. His skin warmed when Nick glanced at his outstretched body.

“This knife was used on one of my brothers this morning. Know anything about that, Abbott?”

Kelly frowned and forced himself to sit up, turning partly to face Nick. “What are you talking about?”

Nick’s voice was dangerously soft when he replied. “My brother’s throat was slit early this morning. This knife was found beside him, covered in his blood.”

Kelly’s blood went cold as he swallowed. “Someone used that to kill someone?”

“Like it hasn’t been used for that before,” Nick scoffed, then continued with a detached sort of curiosity. “Mikey’s throat was slit, but only enough for him to be fully aware as he choked on his own blood.” He flipped the knife shut and set it on the bed between them, his eyes hard as he stared at Kelly.

“I don’t use knives,” Kelly said sharply. “I was a medic. I was built to help people.”

Nick pursed his lips, eyeing Kelly head to toe. Nobody talked to him like that anymore, not unless they felt like losing a finger. He smirked, eyes trailing over the marks he’d left on Kelly’s body. “You were certainly built for something.”

Kelly blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend how Nick could go from murderous to horny in two seconds flat. “You can’t possibly want to go again.”

“Oh, anything’s possible,” Nick growled lowly, and started across the bed toward Kelly.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Zane stepped out of the warehouse where de la Vega’s crew had set up shop. He’d only stopped by to give them an update on Nick’s whereabouts and see if they had any new instructions.

It was the same: keep Nick alive – for now – and get what info he could. Simple enough, yet Zane was finding it hard to get information when Nick didn’t even trust him to protect the boat, let alone his life.

What had been a routine stop at the warehouse turned into the crew wanting Zane to partake in party favors, as the night was just starting when he arrived. It was a part of his image that he hated.

The chill was like a slap in the face and it helped to lift the haze from his mind. It hadn’t been anything too hardcore, just a couple of uppers. The kind that made his mind fuzzy, oddly enough. They were fun when he wanted to party. Not so much when he was trying to stay a step ahead of his tail.

The tan car that followed him most of the afternoon would have gone unnoticed if it had been tailing someone with less experience than Zane. Flipping a u-turn in Boston wasn’t something one did when trying to stay under the radar.

Zane stuffed a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a half empty carton of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips and replaced the pack, patting down his pockets for a lighter. He’d only just found it in the bottom of his other jacket pocket when a voice spoke from his left, startling him.

“Those things’ll kill ya,” it drawled, and Zane turned to see a man sporting a couple days’ scruff, a dark pair of jeans, and a well-loved leather jacket. He’d only just stopped turning when the man lashed out with a right hook that made Zane stagger backward. The cigarette dropped from his lips, along with a string of expletives, and the stranger laughed when Zane’s heel caught a piece of rubble. He sprawled on his ass, his shoulder protesting when it hit the gravel..

“What the fuck?” Zane groaned, rolling away from his bad side. He rose slowly, rubbing his shoulder as the man circled him. “Who are you?”

“Someone you pissed off,” the guy shrugged. Zane touched the back of his hand to his mouth, his upper lip curling when it came away bloody.

“I can see that,” he snarled, licking over the split with a wince.

“Un momento,” the guy said, holding up a finger as he mocked Zane's accent. He shrugged out of the leather jacket and hung it neatly over the concrete divider that separated the parking lot from the gravel. He stretched out his arms as he approached Zane, and under the orange glow of the building’s external lights, Zane caught sight of a tattoo on his arm.

He tipped his head back and groaned; more fucking military? How many were there? Zane shook his head, hoping to clear the fog. It did nothing. By the time he looked back, the man was coming for him again. He had just enough time to turn, dodging the blow and driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. He connected with something solid, and both men grunted. Zane backed quickly out of reach, his heels kicking gravel.

The man moved so quickly, Zane struggled to match him. He was back within seconds, feinting another hook for Zane’s chin. Right when Zane moved out of the way, he hooked a foot behind his ankle and dragged Zane’s feet from under him.

Zane went down with a yell and rolled away, gravel and debris prickling at his back through the thin jacket. He rolled to his knees and paused, shaking his head. He dropped his jacket to the ground, the pain helping to clear his mind. He grunted and they started to circle each other, the stranger sporting an almost giddy grin.

“I’m really going to enjoy this, Lonestar,” he rumbled, flexing his hands. “I don’t know how the hell you got the drop on Doc.”

Zane blinked and frowned, still matching every step the man took. “Doc?” As they circled, Zane peered at his arm, a pit hardening in his stomach. The sleeve of his t-shirt covered the top of the tattoo, but a prominent bulldog peeked out from under it. After all his research the night before, he could guess the man was a Marine. He knew immediately he wouldn’t be winning this fight, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to go down swinging.

With a sneer, the other man stopped walking. “Yeah. You took his knife, remember? I gave him that knife, you know. Years ago.”

“Right. Doc,” Zane muttered. He could feel his body tensing, preparing for a strike.

“It’s Xander, right?” The man growled, his eyes flashing. He took a step to close the distance between them.

“Maybe,” Zane growled back, flexing his wrists. He’d taken off his knives in the warehouse and only now he realized he forgot to put them back on. He swore under his breath.

“Well, Xander, I don’t know what kind of tricks you pulled on my partner, but they won’t work on me.” He stepped forward again, arm snaking out gracefully to seize the front of Zane’s shirt. He hauled him close, lowering his chin. Zane recognized the move too late and caught the blow with his nose. His head jerked back from the force of it, and for a moment he could only blink away stars.

“I didn’t pull any tricks,” Zane managed, his words slurring slightly. He hit the inside of the man’s elbow and backed away once he was released. Blood flowed freely from his nose, thick and warm. He shook his head again.

“Sure,” the man drawled, following after Zane. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”

“Your man choked,” Zane hissed. He stopped walking and steeled his nerves, bringing his hands up to defend himself. “He had the kill and he didn’t take it.”

“And where were you? Getting high, I assume.”

“I was making a call,” Zane growled, waiting. “He just got lucky.”

It didn’t take long; the man snarled and came at him again, movements too quick for Zane to block completely. He took a couple of blows to his ribs, stopped others with his forearm, got a few swings in himself, and then the Marine grabbed onto his shoulder. He squeezed, thumb digging into the pressure point, and pulled Zane forward as he brought his knee into his midsection. He shoved Zane at the ground, lip curled in a snarl as he stood over him.

Zane coughed, bracing his arms defensively. The gravel was sharp, smaller pieces digging into his back.

“My partner could kick your ass from now ‘til New Year, sport.”

“He could try,” Zane growled, lurching upward. He erupted from the ground and launched right into the man, sending him staggering backward. Zane latched onto his arm, his head spinning from the sudden change in equilibrium. The guy grabbed onto his wrist and turned, pulling Zane’s arm over his shoulder and ramming into his body to send Zane right back down to the gravel. The abuse to his shoulder combined with the hard impact knocked the wind right out of him, and Zane groaned plaintively.

“You got no idea what you’re doing, son,” the man growled, bending down to glare at Zane. His shirt dipped away from his stomach as he leaned, and Zane caught sight of the badge partially tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He pretended not to notice.

“You fucking started this,” Zane snapped, rolling onto his side. He got to his knees and shook his head, blinking stars out of his vision.

“You’re the one doing illegal shit,” he shot back. He stepped away and turned his back, waiting for Zane to get up again. The cockiness of it made Zane’s blood boil and he forced himself to his feet, scowling. He rushed at the man before he could turn around, this time sending them both to the ground. He scrambled to twist the guy’s arm behind him, much like the hold he’d been put in the night before, but the man beneath him simply turned his hand. He grabbed onto Zane’s wrist and pressed his thumb hard into the pressure point.

Zane yelled in pain and frustration, blinding pain shooting up his arm. As it went numb, the Marine bucked him off and rolled away, coming to a stop after just a few feet. He got up on his knees and sat back on his heels, laughing breathlessly as Zane muttered a string of curses under his breath.

“The fuck did I do to you?” he demanded, cradling his arm as sharp tingles began spreading feeling back into it. He grumbled in Spanish, rubbing at his wrist.

“Nothing,” the Marine said, and began laughing harder. He shook his head and got to his feet, walking around Zane. “Little piece of advice?” He called over his shoulder. Zane gaped at his back, the fight over just as fast as it had started.

“No thanks,” Zane managed, trying to find enough venom to put into his voice.

“Stop getting high on the job,” he said anyway, stopping to put his jacket back on. He turned and looked at Zane, his eyes hard.

“Hey, fuck you,” Zane called out, staggering to his feet. He hissed as gravel slid across his back, embedded in his shirt, but ignored it as he stooped to pick up his jacket. He pulled it on, checking that his cigarettes and lighter were still in the pockets. By the time he rounded the divider to the parking lot, the tan car was pulling onto the street.

Zane glared after it, still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. And why his goddamn jeans were so tight.

∞

It was dark out when Nick pulled his robe from the bathroom. Kelly was face-down in the sheets and still panting, knuckles white around a handful of fabric and his body trembling. Nick wrapped the silk around his body and tied the sash to keep it closed, casting one last look back at Kelly as he left the room.

He made his way up the stairs, heading for the kitchen. They needed refreshments, but when he arrived, there was someone else already pulling something out of the freezer.

Nick cleared his throat, glancing at Kelly’s gun still sitting on the shelf. When Xander turned around, his lip was split, and there were dark tracks where blood had dried under his nose. He scowled and brought a pack of peas, the same one he’d used the night before, up to his shoulder. Xander’s eyes followed Nick warily as the other man pulled a rocks glass from the cupboard and dropped a couple cubes of ice into it.

“I wanna know who the fuck is sending Marines after us,” Xander growled. “Because this?” He gestured to himself; at the rips in his jeans, the gravel clinging to his back, the lacerations on his face. “This is bullshit.”

“Yeah, you look like hell,” Nick said, pouring two fingers of whisky over the ice in his glass. He let it sit for a moment and turned back to the freezer, pulling out a carton of ice cream.

“Nick, something serious is going down. Someone is out for blood. They sent someone after you, and I just got fucking jumped by the guy who tailed me all afternoon.”

“If you knew he was tailing you, how’d he jump you?” Nick set the carton on the counter and picked up his glass, pausing to sniff at the whisky. It was a ten year old single malt, one of Nick’s favorites. He rarely drank it, but tonight there was cause for celebration.

Xander ignored his question. “I think we should consider moving you somewhere safer. This place isn’t protected, and it’s way too far from headquarters if something goes down. I don’t like that some punk got all the way down to your cabin before I knew about it. I don’t like that a goddamn Marine just tackled me into some gravel. I especially don’t like that Abbott – you know, the guy you let go last night – is the only person who looks good for Mikey’s killer. I don’t even know why you let him go, Nick.”

Nick drained the glass, his upper lip curling as he lowered it. He turned toward Xander and smashed it on the floor, closing the distance between them in a single stride. He seized Xander’s windpipe and shoved him back against the fridge, the pack of peas falling away as Xander grabbed Nick’s wrist. Nick felt him swallow, and squeezed.

“Listen here, assclown. I don’t give a shit why you’re here, why your boss thinks I need babysittin’. I’m looking at both of us, and I only see one asshole can’t keep his fists up. You got that?”

Xander nodded, jaw clenched. Nick continued.

“I don’t know who’s sending guys after us, but it sure as shit ain’t my fault you can’t handle them. Capisci?”

With murder in his eyes, Xander nodded again.

“Good boy.” Nick let him go, turning his hand to pat Xander’s cheek twice. He spun on his heel and sidestepped the glass on the floor, glancing up to see Kelly standing at the top of the stairs. “Nice of you to join us, Kelly,” Nick greeted, eyeing him with muted disapproval.

He’d pulled his jeans on and had his shirt in one hand, looking from Nick to Xander with an unreadable expression. His neck and chest were covered in marks, and Nick could see the partial handprints visible above the cut of his jeans. Nick smirked; he had a few bruises on his own chest where Kelly had retaliated.

Xander’s dark eyes traveled from the obvious evidence on Kelly’s chest to Nick, and there was some kind of snark on the tip of his tongue.

Nick raised an eyebrow and waited. Instead of voicing his opinion, Xander clenched his jaw, staring hard at Nick and willing him to understand that Xander was just trying to keep him alive.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Nick muttered. He grabbed the carton of ice cream and a couple of spoons as he turned back, pointing them at Kelly. “Get your ass back down there, I’m not done with you yet.”

As he followed Kelly back down to the bottom of the boat, Nick glanced back at Xander. He’d picked up the bag of peas and was checking it for glass, his brow furrowed. The guy didn’t last three minutes against Kelly, and Nick couldn’t imagine he fared much better against the Marine.

He twisted the lid off the ice cream and shut the door to his room, tossing Kelly a spoon. He sat down on the bed and carved out a spoonful for himself, then offered it to Kelly.

“Really? Sharing ice cream? You aren’t going soft on me, are you, Irish?”

Nick growled softly. “There’s nothing soft about me, babe.”

Kelly grinned and blew him a kiss, closing his lips around the spoon. He pulled it out again, reaching for more as he said, “Your friend looks like shit.”

“Not friends, Cartel sent him to babysit. Someone sent a Marine after him.” Nick paused, glancing sideways at Kelly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything, would you?”

Kelly shifted, the mirth dropping from his eyes. He wasn’t meeting Nick’s gaze. “I might.”

Nick hummed thoughtfully, setting the ice cream aside. He pushed at Kelly’s shoulders until he laid down and swung over him, straddling his waist. “And what are the chances I’ll get you talking about it?”

Kelly pursed his lips, his head turning instantly when he felt Nick’s lips graze his neck. “Slim to none?”

“Yeah,” Nick murmured, scraping his teeth over Kelly’s earlobe. He grabbed his wrists and pulled them over Kelly’s head, pressing them into the mattress. He pulled back to look into his eyes, smirking. “We’ll see about that.”

∞

Zane quietly swept up the glass in the kitchen, ignoring the occasional thud from downstairs. If Nick wanted to get his throat slit, that was his prerogative. He wasn’t about to go run and save him, not after warning him twice. There was a SARC in his bed, and there was a Marine who also seemed to have it out for them. Or for _Xander_ , at least.

The drugged fog had long since lifted, leaving behind a dull ache that settled over his entire body. He knew it was from fighting two nights in a row, but it was incentive enough to avoid more party favors from the Cartel.

Zane brushed a hand over his lower back, letting the gravel drop near the pile of glass. He swept it all into the dustpan and discarded the pile, then grabbed his peas and went up to the flybridge. He wanted to get as far away from Nick as possible. Quite literally sleeping with the enemy, and still acting like Zane was an overprotective bear.

On his way up to the bridge, Zane picked up the pad of paper Nick kept on the salon table. He thumbed to the back for a clean page and settled in on one of the bench seats, jotting down everything he knew about what was happening.

So far, there was a SARC involved. He’d mentioned that he was Force Recon, and it wasn’t a far leap to assume he and the Marine were on the same assignment. Zane’s stomach dropped. If they were Force Recon, there was a possibility that more of them were crawling around the city looking for trouble.

Zane looked around warily, half expecting one of them to leap over the side of the boat and come at him again. The most frustrating part wasn’t that they’d both took him down. If anything, he was used to that. Cartel meant constantly being taken down a notch. It wasn’t his pride that was wounded.

What pissed him off was that both of them had pinned him face down, and despite the resulting pain in his shoulder, it had turned him on. Zane rubbed his fingers over his mouth and winced, forgetting that his lip was split and still sore. He didn’t even know the guy’s name, but he knew that his shoulders felt like they could lift a Mack truck if they needed to.

Zane shook his head, looking back down at the notepad. Without realizing it, he’d drawn a cartoon bulldog in the upper corner. He promptly scribbled it out, frowning down at his hand.

SARC. Force Recon. The question that sat heaviest on Zane’s mind was why Abbott hadn’t killed Nick when he had the chance. He knew they’d been talking for at least a minute before Zane grabbed him. That was more than enough time to subdue Nick who, while excellent in a street fight, had no formal training.

It was troublesome, also, that he was down in Nick’s bed. All he would have to do is wait for Nick to pass out from sexual exhaustion and he’d be vulnerable to anything. The thought made Zane uneasy, even though the man hadn’t made any further attempt on Nick’s life.

Zane moved the bag of peas to his shoulder, grimacing as the soreness from the fight began to truly settle. He could feel the scrapes from the gravel across his back, and a bruise starting to throb on his chin. His shoulder hurt the worst, though.

What Zane neglected to mention to Nick was that it wasn’t just a Marine who came after him.

It was a Fed. He’d seen enough of the badge under his shirt to know the man for what he was, and it made Zane even more uneasy to know that someone powerful wanted Nick dead. He shook the thought off, turning instead to the man’s partner.

If Kelly was in Nick’s bed, that must’ve meant that he didn’t kill Mikey. That, or Nick didn’t care. The latter was highly unlikely, given how close they were.

Zane tossed the pad down onto the bench and stood, looking across the river. If Kelly hadn’t killed Mikey, then who had? Who had the balls to sneak onto Nick O’Flaherty’s boat, steal a knife, and kill someone with it? More important, what purpose did it serve?

He wanted to hate Kelly. He should hate Kelly, both for beating him and for whatever nefarious reasons he’d come looking for Nick in the first place that culminated in some apparently marathon fucking. Something just felt off about the whole situation, because someone was trying to throw Kelly under suspicion, and if Abbott wasn’t involved with anything beyond the bedroom Zane needed to find out who it was – before it came down to a firefight. Zane was loathe to lend a hand, but if Abbott was clean, he had much bigger fish to fry.

∞

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Ty hissed, watching the peroxide turn pink as it ran down his arm. He’d played it like he wasn’t injured, but the bodyguard had gotten in a couple of lucky shots. The back of his entire upper arm was scraped to hell, with pieces of fine gravel still clinging. His ribs hurt like no other, a bruise already blossoming where his Glock had sandwiched between Xander’s elbow and his body.

Kelly had said he was big, and Ty had to admit he was right. Xander cleared him by at least two inches, maybe a little more, and he had to have at least as much muscle mass. If the guy hadn’t been high, he probably would’ve given Ty a run for his money, and that normally didn’t sit well with him.

For some Godforsaken reason, he thought he might… _like_ it. For the few moments when Xander had thrown him to the gravel, heavy body landing on top of him, Ty had felt his pulse jump. It wasn’t with fear, either.

He grumbled under his breath, scowling at the thought being attracted to a member of the mob. Not just a criminal, but a drug addict. The peroxide stung as he poured more over his arm, and the pain alone was enough to shake Xander free from his thoughts.

After picking out the larger pieces of rock, he considered waiting for Kelly to get back – but Kelly hadn’t checked in for a while, and though he was sure Kelly was fine, there was still a pit of worry settling in his gut. He’d foregone waiting and decided to get cleaned up instead, knowing Kelly would chew him out if he didn’t..

One thing Ty had forgotten since his discharge: cleaning wounds in the field hurt like hell.

By the time he finished disinfecting and wrapping the area, he was starting to feel the part of his jaw where Xander’s fist had landed. He rubbed at the spot, warring with whether he wanted to just pass out or ice it.

He’d hurt less if he iced it.

Ty heaved a sigh and swore, throwing the lock open on the door so he wouldn’t have to go fishing for his key. He’d dressed down to a pair of sweats while he worked on his shoulder, and his key was somewhere in his jeans. Or maybe his jacket.

In any case, it was easier to leave the door open, so he grabbed the bucket and made his way down to the ice machine. He waited impatiently for the bucket to fill, the machine noisily grinding out ice chips while he leaned against it. Twice, before the bucket was as full as he wanted, he had to hit the button for more.

With the bucket finally filled, Ty scooped it up and held it under one arm, using the other to open the door to the small room. He rounded the corner and looked up, seeing movement in his peripheral vision, and immediately ducked behind the section of wall dividing each pair of rooms.

He peered around the corner. Someone who looked suspiciously like Xander was edging his way into their hotel room, and Ty hated the way his heart skipped a beat.

He ducked back into the corner, swearing under his breath. He didn’t have time to wonder how Xander found his room. He peered around the corner again in time to see the coat Xander was wearing disappear from view. The door banged gently. It was now or never.

He moved the ice bucket to his hand, as it was the only weapon he had available, and quickly darted toward the door. He was thankful he left the lights on, and eased his way through the smallest opening he could.

Xander was standing at the table, rifling through the file on the table. Except it wasn’t Xander. Ty could just see the side of his face, and it was not the same face he’d been watching all day.

He felt a small measure of relief as he ducked into the bathroom. He’d set his gun by the sink while he cleaned his shoulder, and thanked his lucky stars that the intruder hadn’t checked there, first. He eased back out into the room, his steps silent. Shooting someone at this hour, with who knows how many people around to hear it, was not a great idea.

The man turned to Ty’s bag on the far side of the bed and bent over, shoving clothes around. Ty crossed the room in three strides, approaching from behind.

Just before Ty reached him, he lifted his head and spotted the reflection in the window. Snarling, the man turned, aiming a jab for Ty’s side. It landed between a set of ribs, and Ty had to bite back a yelp of pain. The man came around fully, his movements almost too fast for Ty in his already tired and injured state.

The stranger reached for the Glock, hitting the button on the side to eject the magazine. It landed on Ty’s toe; the action fell next, and Ty slid his feet backward to avoid it. The man threw his elbow in Ty’s face, simultaneously shoving the hand with the gun aside.

Ty turned his head, absorbing the blow to his ear rather than his nose, and let out a low snarl. In just over two seconds, Ty was left with a ringing in his ear and a useless gun grip. The stranger advanced, planting a foot in between Ty’s legs as he prepared to bowl him over.

Instead, he jammed his fingers into Ty’s ribs, catching almost the exact same spot where they landed before. Ty didn’t bother holding back, letting out a sharp cry of pain that quickly gave away his frustration.

“Fuck this,” Ty growled, flipping the Glock around. Using the handle as a club, he cracked the butt against the stranger’s temple, stopping him in his tracks. He cradled his ribs as the large man crumpled to the floor.

Ty looked down at his gun, frowning as he rubbed his hand over his side. There would be a bruise there in a few hours, he could already feel it, and it would match the one Xander gave him. Not only had he left his hotel room wide open – practically invited the asshole in – but his gun was in pieces.

In all likelihood, the man slumped on the floor was one of O’Flaherty’s men. The thought made Ty’s blood curdle, and he turned around in search of his phone. The pit of worry expanded the longer he thought about it – what was the likelihood of a hitman finding their room and not being part of the mob?

Ty found his phone in the bathroom, still in his jeans, and pulled it out. As he dialed Kelly’s number, he went back to the stranger to lay him out flat. He bent over, patting the unconscious man down and looking for any weapons he might have hidden. By the time Ty finished, he had a pile of objects sitting on the corner of the bed, including a lock-picking set and a pair of handcuffs.

“Who the hell are you?” Ty grumbled, grabbing the guy’s feet.

Kelly’s phone went to voicemail, and Ty swore.

“You better have a real good excuse for not answering, Doc. If you aren’t shot or tied up somewhere, I’m gonna kick your ass. Call me.” Ty sniffed and looked around for something solid, something that wouldn’t give, but there was nothing in the room to chain the man to. He dragged the man toward the bathroom and eyed the safety bar next to the tub.

He pulled his own cuffs from his jeans and snapped them around one wrist, looped them through the bar, and closed the second over the other wrist. After taking a step back, he cocked his head, sizing the man up as he dialed Kelly again.

It went to voicemail a second time, and his concern for Kelly doubled. Ty turned on his heel to go find fresh clothes.

Ty was officially starting to worry.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Nick’s voice was nearly gone. “Come, Kels,” he managed hoarsely, pressing his nose under Kelly’s jaw. He moved his grip from Kelly’s wrist, sliding his fingers in between Kelly’s, and squeezed. “Come now.”

“Fuck, I can’t, Nick. Too many, I can’t.” Kelly babbled, not entirely sure he was even speaking English. He didn’t know if his eyes were open or shut; he was only aware of the sharp pleasure jolting through his body, hovering on the edge of painful. His body was loose from the three – or was it four? – orgasms prior to Nick pinning his wrists. And really, Kelly had no idea what it was about the action that had spurred his already spent cock into action, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

Nick panted in his ear, breath hot and heavy. Their chests were slick with sweat and sticking together. Nick gripped Kelly’s hands hard and moved his lips up to Kelly’s mouth, kissing him wet and sloppy and groaning.

“Come on,” Nick urged, pressing his forehead into Kelly’s. He stared down into those ever changing eyes, even though they were far off and dazed at the moment. “Stay with me. Just one more. Come on, babe.”

Kelly whimpered and closed his eyes, the sound shooting straight down Nick’s spine, and his orgasm coiled tightly in his hips. Nick’s pace was slow this round, trying to savor the feeling of Kelly’s trembling, spent muscles. The Corpsman’s legs wrapped desperately around Nick’s hips, and he threw his head back with a soft cry as his orgasm overtook him.

Nick jerked his hips forward one last time, his pleasure snapping forward in one huge rush. He went still and shook, gripping Kelly’s hands too hard, muffling his moan in Kelly’s neck. He huffed and collapsed, landing in the pool of come on Kelly’s stomach and not caring. His muscles ached, but in the best way possible, and Nick stayed there for awhile before he found the energy to roll to his side.

Panting, Nick looked over at Kelly, who hadn’t even moved. They both needed some kind of nourishment.

Nick shifted slightly, putting distance between them to allow their sweaty skin to breathe, and the ice cream container rolled against his hip. He rolled away from Kelly as he grabbed it, picking up the container and checking the bed for any spillage. Although the ice cream was soft and soupy, none had escaped the container. Nick glanced over his shoulder at Kelly.

“Ice cream?” he asked, smirking. He sat up and retrieved one of the spoons, taking care to lean over the carton as he scooped a bite into his mouth.

“You may be able to survive on sugar alone, but I need actual food,” Kelly sighed, slinging his arm over his eyes. He stifled a yawn and pulled it away, looking up at Nick.

“Like?” Nick asked, taking another bite. He left the spoon in his mouth and put the lid back on the ice cream, then got to his feet. His thighs shook slightly as they accepted his weight.

“Pancakes,” Kelly said immediately, leading Nick to think he’d already thought hard about what kind of food he wanted, and just might have put himself in a position to get it. Nick ducked into the bathroom to take care of the condom, and returned with a washcloth for Kelly to clean himself off. “Jesus, that’s cold,” he complained, shivering as he wiped up the mess on his stomach.

Nick took the cloth back with a shrug, tossing it into the hamper that stood just inside his bathroom. He grabbed his robe and pulled it on once more, the silk almost too much for his skin.

Kelly leaned back on his hands, frowning at Nick.

“What?”

“I don’t have anything but the clothes I brought, and forgive me, but I don’t feel like putting anything on that requires effort.”

Nick rolled his eyes as he crossed to his closet. “You can borrow some of mine. Just don’t make it weird.”

“How the hell would I make it weird?” Kelly muttered, inspecting the sweats Nick tossed onto the bed. He shimmied first into his own boxers, then into Nick’s sweats, and picked up the old Sox t-shirt that’d been thrown out, too. “They smell like you,” Kelly commented, pulling the front of Nick’s shirt over his nose for a whiff.

For a second, Nick just stared. Kelly wasn’t small in any sense of the word – what he lacked in height was more than made up for by the sculpted muscles that wrapped around his body – but Nick’s sweats were baggy but clung crookedly to his hips, and his shirt was loose in the right places, and Kelly’s hair was tousled. Nick swallowed and shook himself, pointing an accusatory finger at Kelly.

“You’re making it weird,” he said, and walked out of the room.

Spreading his hands, Kelly followed after him. “You are one hell of a commitment-phobe, aren’t you.”

“What’s there to commit to? You’re only here to kill me, aren’t you?”

Kelly remained silent and stood at the foot of the stairs, blinking after Nick. “Originally, yeah.”

Nick snorted as he reached the top step, and looked over his shoulder to see Kelly still at the bottom of the stairs. He turned, the amusement fading from his voice. “And now?”

Kelly’s shoulders slumped, like he was only just realizing the mess he’d made. He pressed his lips together, not saying a word.

Nick clucked his tongue and turned away with a frown. “Come on, Kels. I’ll make you some fuckin’ pancakes.”

∞

“Of all the fucking times to get caught, Kelly,” Ty muttered. He shoved his arms into his leather jacket and ducked into the bathroom to check on the intruder. He was still unconscious, though there was already a bump growing on the side of his head. Ty shrugged and looked down at his phone, willing it to ring, hoping Kelly would call, but it remained stubbornly silent.

Ty huffed and shoved it into his pocket, adding his wallet and hotel key to the mix. He picked up the keys to the unmarked car they were borrowing from the local PD and set off, making sure to hang the _Do Not Disturb_  sign on the door.

Kelly better be dead. Or in a ditch. Or dying in a ditch. He better have a fucking good reason for not answering Ty’s calls.

He had no clue where to start his search, so he decided to pick up the trail where he’d last seen Kelly: the marina.

∞

Not only did Nick know how to make pancakes, he knew how to make pancakes with M&M’s and _not burn them_ , unlike Kelly’s partner. Kelly cut into the latest one, smirking at the crude cock shape in which the morsels were arranged.

“So why _did_  you want to kill me?” Nick asked, as casually as if he were asking about the weather. Kelly froze, a bite just leaving his plate. Nick didn’t look anything other than curious, and Kelly had to remind himself that the authorities weren’t the only ones who wanted Nick O’Flaherty’s head on a platter.

Kelly set his fork down and cleared his throat, prepared to lunge for any weapon he could get his hands on. After a steadying breath, he decided on the truth: “I’m a Fed.”

It was hard not to fidget in the silence that followed. Nick raised his head slowly, just enough to peer at Kelly from under his eyebrows. The look in his eyes just about had Kelly reaching for his knife, but then he remembered he wasn’t wearing it. He sighed softly, dropping his head; he watched his fork as he pushed the bite of pancake around his plate.

“Hear me out, okay?”

Nick stuck his tongue in his cheek, looking at Kelly for a long, silent minute. He licked his lips and looked back down, flipping his latest pancake over. He nodded curtly.

Kelly took a breath. “Okay. You know that I was on a Recon team. There were six of us altogether. Three of us joined the FBI after being discharged: Eli, Six, and me.”

Nick slid the finished pancake onto a stack of others, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Kelly’s.

“Eli went to New York, Ty wanted to stay in Baltimore, and I didn’t really have anywhere to go so I just stuck with Ty. We were assigned as partners. Following Ty was just… second nature. He was the leader of our team.” Kelly paused, glancing toward the cabin door.

“We won’t be interrupted,” Nick promised, tapping the note Xander had left on the counter; he’d snorted at it earlier, but said nothing, and Kelly hadn’t felt like prying. “He’s off taking care of Cartel business.”

Nevertheless, Kelly lowered his voice and leaned over the counter toward Nick. “He’s the one who beat the crap out of your friend.”

“Is he?” Nick raised both eyebrows. He chuckled softly, sliding another pancake onto the stack. He turned off the stove and reached for the syrup, drizzling it across them in a lazy criss-cross. “Can’t say I don’t like the guy a little bit just for that. Although I’m pretty pissed off I’ve been fuckin’ a Fed this whole time and you never said a word.”

Kelly rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah, that would’ve gone down real well. ‘Hey, while you’ve got my dick in your mouth, I just thought I’d let you know that I work for the Government.’”

“What was I gonna do, bite it off?”

“I don’t know,” Kelly grumbled, shoving another bite of pancake into his mouth.

Nick pursed his lips, his eyes betraying his amusement. “I’d have just fucked you harder.”

Kelly threw back his head. “Ha! Don’t know if that’s really possible, Nicko. I’ll be feeling it for days, trust me.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Nick smirked, cutting into his pancake. Chewing, he waved his fork around. “So, finish your epic tale.”

“Right,” Kelly sighed, setting his fork down. “Eli’s been in New York since our last tour. Must’ve been six years ago now.” Kelly paused, swallowing, and picked up his fork again. He couldn’t seem to sit still. He pushed the remnants of his pancake around on his plate as he took a steadying breath. “About six months ago… Eli was killed. Cold blood, just – murdered.” He closed his eyes, a muscle fluttering in his jaw. Nick watched for a long moment, letting Kelly get himself under control.

“So why’d you come to Boston?”

Kelly shook himself. “We started in New York. Did some investigating, found out it was an extension of the Irish mob that pulled the trigger. Killed him in his bed like it was nothing, no rhyme or reason to speak of… Nobody should have gotten the drop on Eli, not after what we went through. There wasn’t a single sign of struggle, Nick. They cut him open, and waited around long enough to make sure he was beyond help. Then they put a bullet in his head to make sure it was done.” Kelly finally looked up, meeting Nick’s eyes. “So we took out the boss. Then a couple days ago, we got asked to give Boston the same treatment. We were told there was a new head honcho and that it would be a cakewalk.”

Nick scratched idly at his chest, looking at Kelly. He didn’t look angry, but then again, Kelly didn’t know him all that well. He straightened up to his full, formidable height. “You took out the boss. As in, you and Ty. Just the two of you.”

“Yeah.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Nick frowned. He tapped the edge of his plate with the tines of his fork, a crease forming in his brow. “Why would the Irish mob go after a Fed? We don’t got beef with you. Nobody would’ve touched a Fed without a fucking good reason. I mean, yeah, sometimes our guys get taken in, but it’s not worth killing Government. It brings too much heat. Brings guys like you.”

“I don’t know _why_  they killed Eli, but all the evidence says they did. The way he was killed, the time, the place. Fuck, he’d been nosing around in their business. We found a case file under his pillow of known mob associates. It had to be them.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m tellin’ you, Doc, they wouldn’t have touched him.”

“Yeah? Well, you _tellin’_ me just isn’t good enough. I lost a brother, and when the chips fell, the cards were stacked in your favor. Tell me that doesn’t look bad. Tell me that we weren’t justified. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if it had been me who killed your brother.” Kelly didn’t remember standing up, or when he’d started yelling, but he could feel the pain at the back of his throat. He set his hands on his hips and lowered his head on a sigh, wondering when his body had started trembling.

“Kelly…”

Kelly shook his head. “You weren’t there,” he said hoarsely. “You didn’t see the bed soaked in Eli’s blood. What they did to him...”

Nick held up his hands in surrender. “I got it,” he said. There was something about the way Kelly described Eli’s death that nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Look, I get it, but I still don’t think it was them. Let me call up the new boss in New York and see if he’s got anything, alright?”

Kelly covered his mouth and nodded, sliding uneasily back into his seat as Nick pulled out a cell phone.

He dialed a number and put the phone on speaker, setting it down on the counter between them. He pressed a finger to his lips, and Kelly nodded.

“This better be good, Nicky. I was in the middle of a real good time, you know?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Frankie.”

“S’okay, kiddo. I heard about Mikey. You holding up alright?”

“I’ve got some company.” Nick winked at Kelly. He had his hands folded, pressing his knuckles into his mouth and watching Nick intently. “Listen, I got a question for ya. About six months ago, a Fed was killed in his bed. Was that one of us?”

“I don’t know, Nicky. Six months is a long time ago. I wasn’t privy to that knowledge back then, you know?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. Just tell me if it was our hit or not.”

“Why the fuck should I tell you, huh? Just ‘cause we family? Just ‘cause we run the same business?”

“Yeah, Frankie. That’s exactly why you should fuckin’ tell me,” Nick snarled. “And if you don’t, I’ll make sure the next shipment you get is about thirty percent short, you feel me?”

Frankie sighed, the noise crackling across Nick’s speaker. “Yeah, I feel you, Nicky. We didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. We was just as surprised as the Feds, I’ll bet. For a while after the old boss was killed we thought maybe it was the same guy did both jobs, but there weren’t any other big names turning up dead, so we figured it was coincidence.”

Nick pursed his lips, shrugging at Kelly.

“Look, kiddo, I gotta get back before the whores run off with my money. Are we done?”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Nick sighed, reaching over to end the call. “See? Told you it wasn’t us,” Nick said, rounding the end of the counter. He slid onto the other stool and leaned against the counter.

Halfway through the call Kelly’s stomach had dropped. They’d been wrong. They’d gone after the wrong guy, murdered an innocent in cold blood.

Well, not innocent. But that meant the actual killer was still out there. The actual killer was free and clear, maybe even committing more crimes.

“We killed him for nothing,” Kelly said weakly. “We’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time. I almost killed you, and it would’ve been for nothing.”

Nick frowned, reaching out awkwardly to set his hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “It’s not like you knew?” He offered, as if that would make it better.

Kelly shook his head. “We killed him for _nothing_.” The mob had nothing to do with Eli’s death, but Nick’s thoughts were racing in another direction.

Someone in town knew that Kelly had come to Nick that night. Someone knew Kelly had planned to kill him, and when he failed, they tried to set Kelly up to take the fall for Mikey’s death. Someone was watching, and Nick didn’t like it.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Ty kicked the door shut on the unmarked car, muttering under his breath about Kelly and his propensity for sticky situations. He pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster and checked the chamber. With his finger resting on the trigger guard, he started down the dock.

The marina was quiet. There wasn’t a soul in sight, yet Ty felt like there were eyes boring into the back of his neck. It made his arm hair stand. As he approached the end of the dock where the _Fiddler_ waited, Ty was both relieved and unnerved that the boat was dark. He stepped carefully onto the deck and crouched, listening for movement.

After a few moments of silence, Ty crept forward, putting his back to the wall beside the cabin door. He adjusted his grip on the Glock and reached for the latch, letting the door swing inward. Light from inside bled onto the deck near his feet, and when he peered around the corner, his jaw dropped.

Kelly sat with his head resting in one hand, and Nick O’Flaherty was rubbing circles into his back as he spoke. His voice was low enough that Ty couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he could hear Kelly’s broken groan. Kelly’s head dropped and he leaned into Nick’s touch.

Ty’s gaze skimmed across the purple marks all over Kelly’s neck and collarbone, ones that definitely weren’t there when Kelly had showered back at the hotel earlier that afternoon. He lowered the aim of his gun to their feet, and the rustle of his jacket caught Kelly’s attention. His head jerked up, a look of dread on his face as he looked toward the door.

“Ty…” Kelly slid off his stool and had to catch the sweats he was wearing. They were a couple sizes too large and fell out of place when he moved, but as he got to his feet he pulled them back over his hips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ty practically yelled, scowling at his partner. He let his gun drop to his side and straightened to his full height just inside the cabin. “I’ve been worrying about you for hours and you’ve been here, doing God knows what.”

“Listen, Six, there’s new information.”

“Oh I’m sure there is!” Ty stalked toward Kelly and poked him in the chest. “Bet you got it all from his asshole, huh? Ever stop and think that he might be playing you? Christ, Kelly, you know better than to fraternize with the enemy. You could get fired for this – or worse, stuck at a desk job.” Kelly rolled his eyes, glancing briefly at the criminal still sitting beside him.

Nick turned on the stool and leaned back on his elbows, watching them. He seemed unfazed by the agent waving his pistol about; his green eyes glinted with amusement, and he said nothing.

“Ty, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Kelly tried, holding his hands out, but Ty shook his head.

“You’ve been fucking him since I dropped you off, haven’t you? ‘I could go back and get my knife’,” Ty parroted, purposefully raising his voice. “Dammit, Doc, you were supposed to kill him! Not fuck him!”

“It wasn’t the mob,” Kelly shouted.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it was my own grandmother, you don’t fuck a mob boss,” Ty shouted back.

Nick tilted his head, turning sideways against the counter so he could reach for the plate of pancakes on the other side. He dragged it towards himself and started tearing off pieces, popping them into his mouth like they were popcorn as Ty continued.

“You know better, Kelly. You know the consequences, and I’m not talking about the work-related ones.” Ty finally holstered his Glock, and just as he was about to close the snaps around the handle, a single shot rang out that sent the three of them scrambling to the floor.

“Was that you?” Kelly whispered. Several feet away, Ty lay with his forehead pressed to the carpet, fingers digging in as much as they could. He was breathing deeply.

“No,” he said hoarsely, and lifted his head so he could put his chin on the floor. His eyes were still closed. Ty groaned, trying to shake off the memories that threatened to drag him under. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, following the sound of the shot out onto the stern deck of the boat. Kelly cursed behind him, a steady stream of noise that he ignored. Footsteps sounded on the dock, and in the darkness he could just make out a figure running toward the parking lot.

“There’s a runner,” Ty called out, hurrying back into the cabin of the boat. He stopped in the doorway, looking in at the scene. “Shit.”

Kelly was kneeling on the floor, his shirt gone. Nick’s head and shoulders were in his lap, and the shirt Kelly had been wearing was pressed against his shoulder. Blood bloomed across the fabric. The redhead was unconscious, his head hanging away from the wound as Kelly tried to stop the bleeding.

“It’s just his shoulder,” Kelly said calmly, leaning more of his weight onto the wound. With his free hand, he tapped Nick’s cheek, leaving a smear of half-dried blood behind. Kelly looked up. “Ty, call an ambulance,” he barked.

Ty blinked and reached into his pocket, fumbling with his cellphone. He finally dialed and pressed the phone to his ear. While he relayed the situation and their location, Kelly slapped Nick a little harder, willing him to open his eyes.

With a soft groan, Nick shifted, and then inhaled sharply. “Fuck,” he hissed, looking up at Ty and then Kelly. “What the fuck?

“You’ve been shot,” Kelly explained, grimacing as he adjusted the shirt against the wound.

“No fucking shit, Kelly,” Nick snarled.

“Look, I’ll deal with you later,” Ty grumbled, tossing his phone into Nick’s lap. “I’m gonna go chase down the shooter.” Ty turned on his heel and bolted, vaulting over the safety rail on the stern deck.

“You should go with your partner,” Nick managed, his teeth gritted against the pain.

“Ty can handle himself,” Kelly muttered. “I told you, I was a medic.”

“You aren’t gonna freak out on me or nothing, are you?” Nick asked, attempting a smile. “No post traumatic stress disorder stuff gonna come up?”

Kelly laughed, shaking his head. He winced and wrapped a hand under Nick’s jaw. “Keep your head still. I’ve already got the wound covered, so there’s no point in handing you off to another medic. I’ve done some crazy shit in combat, this is nothing.”

“Yeah? You think they’ll let you ride to the hospital with them?” Nick asked, his voice gone soft. Something pulled in Kelly’s chest when he looked into Nick’s eyes, and he faltered for a moment.

“I’ll make them,” he said quietly.

∞

The dock was slick from the moist air. Twice while rounding the corners, Ty nearly lost his footing. He made it to the parking lot and looked around, taking a moment to catch his breath. He spotted the man at the far end, ducking into a break in the wire fence, and Ty tore after him.

On the other side of the fence there was nothing but gravel and an old abandoned train track. The shooter turned in toward the city, but in the darkness all Ty could make of him was the sound of his footsteps throwing gravel. He followed and came quickly to a dead end. There was just an old, rusty ladder along the wall to the left, the first rung at least eight feet off the ground. There was nowhere else to go.

Ty swore softly and made sure his gun was still safe in his holster, then jumped and grabbed at the ladder. He pulled himself up until he could get his feet under him, rapidly scaling the rest of the wall. The shooter was already at the end of the block, turning away from the marina.

By the time Ty reached the corner, the shooter was nowhere in sight. Citizens strolled down both sides of the street; even if he had eyes on them, he’d never have a clear enough shot. He didn’t even have his phone to call for backup. Swearing colorfully, Ty turned back toward the marina, checking over his shoulder every few minutes.

No wonder he’d felt eyes on him.

He slipped onto the parking lot quietly, the lights from an ambulance practically lighting up the entire marina. Nick was already on a stretcher, waiting at the back while Kelly argued with one of the EMT’s who’d responded to the call. As Ty approached, the fire engine who’d also responded began its journey back to the station.

“Look, you’re not taking him without me,” Kelly said firmly, his arms crossed as he glared at the kid holding Nick’s oxygen tank.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not family, I can’t let you ride with us.”

Nick’s eyes rolled open lethargically. He must’ve already been given a sedative. He reached for the oxygen mask preventing him from speaking, but Ty put a hand on his shin.

“Listen, kid,” Ty said gruffly, lifting up the bottom of his shirt. Clipped to his belt was his badge, and he made sure the kid got a good look before dropping his shirt back into place. “This here is my partner. This is a wanted man, and I’m afraid he’s going to have to stay with him until we get a full detail assigned.”

“He doesn’t have any identification, sir.”

“I’m his identification,” Ty snarled, taking a step forward. “Kelly, get on the damn bus.”

“Ty,” Kelly murmured, putting a hand on his arm. Ty glanced at him and sighed.

“Look, whatever’s going on between you two, I don’t wanna know. But regardless of how pissed I am at you, we do need someone watching him, and his bodyguard is fucking AWOL. You stick with him, and I’ll go find Xander.”

“Alone?” Kelly asked doubtfully. “Come on, Ty. I’m not gonna send you off alone.”

“I can handle Xander,” Ty said, his lips twitching. “I already put him down once. If he’s doing what I think he’s doing, he won’t be hard to handle.”

Kelly didn’t look convinced, but as the EMT loaded Nick into the ambulance, the time to choose was swiftly approaching. He finally pursed his lips and took Ty’s hand, pulling him in so he could wrap his other arm around his shoulders. “Watch your six,” he murmured, and felt more than heard Ty chuckle against him.

“You too, Doc.”

“Agent,” the EMT snapped, leaning out of the back doors. He arched an eyebrow at Kelly, waiting impatiently for him to climb in beside Nick. Kelly nodded, releasing Ty after a brief squeeze. He pulled out Ty’s phone and handed it to him, then climbed into the ambulance without any further hesitation.

As they pulled out of the lot, Ty tried not to think too hard about which team he was currently playing for.

∞

Ty whistled softly as he walked, his strides long so he could move quickly without looking like it. He made his way past bars that plainly looked too ritzy for a group of Cartel junkies. He had a vague idea of where they might have gone based on the first place he’d encountered the bodyguard.

He walked right by upper district and soon found himself walking among throngs of drunk co-eds, many of them decked out in Sox gear. Ty curled his upper lip at the rowdy groups, but eventually stopped outside a place that looked like it had seen a brawl or two. It was the exact kind of dark establishment, complete with blacked out windows, that a group of thugs might frequent.

Glancing back the way he’d come, Ty stepped inside the club. It was fairly crowded, a floor packed with people dancing to the heavy beat coming from the club’s sound system. He made it past the bouncer without any fuss and stood at the edge of the floor, scanning the room.

In the corner booth, a group of men at hunched over drinks, sharing an ashtray between them. Xander was seated on the right, sandwiched between a man with gold caps on his teeth and a short, balding man with a cheap cigar held between his lips. Ty turned toward the bar and flagged down a bartender, ordering a round of drinks for the corner booth of whatever they’d been drinking.

The blonde woman flashed him an easy smile and started making the drinks, her hands flying from bottle to bottle as she lined up five glasses on the bar. Ty laid down a fifty, instructed her to keep the change, and plucked one of the straws to stick it between his teeth. He picked the five drinks up as a group and made his way around the edge of the floor.

“Who ordered more drinks?” Baldy yelled, holding his hand out toward Ty as he approached. He had Spanish accent that garbled his words even worse than Xander’s.

“They’re on me,” Ty said around the straw in his mouth, moving it to the side as he spoke. He put the glasses down on the table and leaned on his hands, tipping his head to the side so he could look at Xander. His pupils weren’t quite blown, but they were certainly wider than they should’ve been. Ty resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead put on his best smile. “Thought I might ask your friend to dance,” he added, casting a look around the table.

“What, you wanna dance with Garza?” the man with gold caps asked, glancing sideways at the man in question. Xander cleared his throat and looked Ty in the eye, his lips curved into a wry grin.

“The man did buy our next round,” Xander drawled, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. “It’s the least I could do.” He motioned for the balding man to move. They shuffled around for a moment, until Xander pushed himself to his feet beside Ty. He smelled like cigarettes, whisky, and the cheap cigars Baldy had apparently been smoking all night. Resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose, Ty turned to face him, his smile still plastered to his face. Xander led the way onto the floor, weaving in between pairs of people until he reached the middle of the floor.

Ty was close behind him, and clamped down on the cry that threatened when Xander spun around and dragged him close. He flailed briefly before wrapping a hand around the back of Xander’s neck, the other gripping his shoulder.

“You know,” he said lowly, one arm circling Ty’s waist. “I don’t even know your name. Have to say I wondered whether I’d be getting attacked again.” He turned, and it took Ty a moment to match his steps. He glanced down and followed Xander’s feet, only looking up again when he’d found the rhythm.

“Well, by now you must know that my partner is sleeping with your boss. I’m willing to bet that’s why you weren’t around this evening.” Ty paused, pressing his lips together. “Name’s Ty,” he sniffed.

“How did you know that?” Xander asked, freezing for a moment. His eyes widened as he looked at Ty, who seized the opportunity to take control of the dance.

“Because my partner neglected to tell me he was even alive, so I went by the boat looking for him.”

Xander swallowed, following Ty’s lead automatically. “Is he… Is Nick still alive?”

“For now,” Ty shrugged. “Smile at your friends,” he instructed, pulling Xander a little closer. The song changed to a new beat, and Ty waited for the table full of thugs to relax before moving them closer to the door.

“What do you mean ‘for now’?” Xander hissed, flashing a smile over Ty’s shoulder. He looked back at Ty’s face and turned his back to the table so he could frown. He bumped Ty’s hand from his waist and took control again, pulling Ty’s hips against his. Ty let him, putting all of his concentration into ignoring the way his body wanted to react to Xander. He’d felt the power in Xander’s body, the planes of lean muscles, during their last altercation; if he weren’t currently working and Xander wasn’t a member of the Cartel, they’d already be back at the hotel. The Spanish accent did more for Ty than he’d ever anticipated.

Ty stared at him, unflinching. He licked his lips. “O’Flaherty was shot at about an hour ago,” he said quietly. “He took a bullet to his right shoulder, regained consciousness before I chased after the shooter. I lost him in the crowds, waited long enough to see Nick and Kelly head off in an ambulance, and I’ve been looking for you since.”

“But he’s okay?” Xander asked doubtfully, still frowning.

Ty frowned back, wondering when Xander had started caring for his boss. Things weren’t quite adding up, but rather than comment on it, Ty raised an eyebrow. “He’s fine. Kelly’s keeping an eye on him.”

“Right. The man who tried to kill him the other night,” Xander growled, his grip tightening on Ty’s waist. He started to pull away, but he didn’t get far before Ty pulled him back.

“Look,” Ty growled, pressing their foreheads together to give the illusion that things were simply heating up. “We’re not the ones trying to kill him. For the time being, anyway.” Xander put his hands back on Ty’s hips, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

“So who is?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Ty snapped. He glanced over Xander’s shoulder at the thugs, relieved to see they were all far too occupied with their next round of drinks to worry about Xander. “How many people have a hit out on him?”

“Beats me,” Xander muttered, his body falling back into the dance. He rolled his hips into Ty’s and moved closer, his cheek brushing Ty’s.

Ty rolled his eyes. “You’ve got way too many distractions, dude.”

 _“Dime acerca de eso,”_ Xander muttered, sliding one hand up Ty’s chest. It took a surprising amount of willpower for Ty to clamp down on the desire the motion sparked in his gut. He swallowed, curling an arm around Xander’s neck, and pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

“And that means?” Ty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Tell me about it,” Xander said with a smirk. Ty tilted his head slightly.

“Which one did you learn first?”

Xander pulled in a deep breath, his chest expanding into Ty’s as he pursed his lips. “Technically, English. The first word I learned was horse. They were everywhere in Texas, and I was _obsessed_ with them.” He bit his lip as his eyes started to roam.

“Did you grow up there?” Ty asked, wondering why he even asked. It didn’t matter, and as soon as he finished his job, he’d likely never see the man again. But he was curious, and Ty never was very good at ignoring his curiosity.

“I’m American, if that’s what you want to know,” Xander replied tersely. The irritation creeping into his voice made the accent thicker, and he was starting to tense under Ty’s hands.

“Relax, Lonestar. Nobody said anything about citizenship. Texas is a long ways from Miami, that’s all.” Ty squinted at him and frowned. “You’re still high,” he observed, watching Xander’s eyes dart around his face.

“Not really,” Xander murmured, palming the side of Ty’s neck. He relaxed as quickly as he’d gotten riled up. “That was hours ago, before we came here.”

“Hours,” Ty echoed, his brow furrowed. They weren’t even dancing anymore, just standing, swaying side to side. Ty needed air, or space, or a bad guy to shoot. He did not need Xander’s eyes drifting toward his mouth or Xander’s thumb rubbing at his bare hip under his t-shirt. It all seemed out of place, and just as Xander started to close the distance between them, Ty pulled back.

His gaze darted toward the booth, where the others weren’t paying them a lick of attention. Xander’s dark eyes bore into him, watching him, and Ty had never felt like more of a caged animal than right in that moment. He reached into his back pocket with one hand and grabbed Xander’s wrist with the other, ignoring the pleased twist to his mouth.

“Xander,” Ty said quietly, pulling Kelly’s cuffs out of his back pocket. He snapped one around Xander’s wrist, and watched the slide of his gaze down to the metal glinting in Ty’s hand. “I’m taking you into custody,” Ty drawled, and waited for the realization to dawn. He planted one foot behind Xander’s ankle and turned, dragging him down to the ground without any further hesitation. Xander landed on his chest with a grunt, and Ty knelt beside him, pulling his other wrist around to snap the other cuff into place.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Xander snapped, looking over his shoulder. Ty grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, feeling a little bit better. He still felt like shooting something, but he quelled that urge in favor of shoving Xander toward the door of the club. Just before leaving, he glanced back, making sure none of Xander’s friends were following them.

“We’re going to go for a little walk,” Ty informed him, keeping one hand fisted in Xander’s shirt, the other on the chain between the cuffs. The unmarked car was only a few blocks away.

“After all that,” Xander spat, stumbling slightly. Ty kept him on his feet and walking, ignoring the glances they received from the people they passed.

“All what, Lonestar?” Ty asked cheerfully, smiling at a group of drunks. They reached the corner and turned, heading in the direction of the marina. Xander’s shoulder shifted subtly, and Ty clucked his tongue quietly. “Don’t even think about it.”

“In a fair fight, I could take you,” Xander grumbled, flexing his wrists.

“Keep telling yourself that, pal,” Ty sighed, patting Xander between the shoulder blades. He fell silent after that, focusing more on keeping Xander under control as they left the dense crowds of the bar district. “Almost there. Then we’ll take a nice ride down to Federal Plaza and have you processed. Sounds fun, hm?”

“Fuck off,” Xander growled, rolling his shoulders again. “Look, I was hoping to keep this under wraps, but there’s something you should know before you drag me down to the federal building.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Ty asked, not entirely listening. He pulled Xander to a stop, ignoring the noise of protest, and dug around in his jeans for the keys to their borrowed car. He finally found them and unlocked it, the keys jingling as he drew them out.

They managed another three steps with Xander rattling off whatever reason he’d had, when the car erupted. The bomb lifted the front end off the ground, sending shards of glass and shrapnel in all directions. Ty seized Xander on instinct, letting the bigger man’s body shield him as he dragged them both behind the car nearest them.

Ty shoved him face-first against the car and crouched beside him, breathing hard. His ears were ringing from the sound, and he held Xander down while he tried to make sense of what happened. Eventually, he leaned forward, speaking into Xander’s ear.

“Was that one of yours?”

“Hell no,” Xander grunted, pushing back against Ty’s hands. “If the Cartel wanted you dead, you’d have a bullet between your eyes. This wasn’t them.”

“Wasn’t you,” Ty corrected, squinting briefly over the car. “We’ve gotta move,” he sighed. “Come on. Can’t fucking go anywhere without someone trying to kill me, apparently. We’ll lay low back at my hotel room, and I’ll take you in tomorrow.” He pulled Xander upright again, frowning at the wreckage and the crowd of people it’d drawn in.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Zane waited in a nearby alley where Ty had stashed him. For whatever reason, the agent didn’t want to stick around, and Zane was perfectly fine with it. He wasn’t entirely sure how Ty thought he would get away without filing a report with whoever arrived on the scene.

His mind was spinning at how fast things had turned on him. Two days ago, he’d been doing his job, keeping Nick alive and well to ensure their bargain stayed intact. Now everything had been turned on its head; Nick was in the hospital, he was sleeping with a Fed, and De la Vega had just ordered an axe to the mob boss’s neck.

The adrenaline rush from the blast was beginning to subside, leaving behind a dull ache all over his front. Blood trickled over his skin in multiple places, making his shirt stick. He tried to shift, but the movement only made it worse; he went still and bared his teeth, peering back at the street for Ty.

He didn’t have to wait too long, though. Less than a minute later, Ty appeared at the corner, glancing back over his shoulder as he approached.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, once he reached Zane, and took the liberty of guiding Zane toward the mouth of the alley. A cab was waiting at the curb, engine running. Ty strolled over, kind enough to open the door for Zane. He promptly shoved Zane inside and crawled in after, handing a bill to the cab driver.

The car pulled away from the curb. It had only been five minutes since the blast, but there was already a crowd of people five feet thick, and they passed right by two squad cars and an ambulance with lights flashing.

“Not that I’m complaining, but wasn’t that your car?” Zane asked, righting himself in the backseat.

“So?” Ty asked, looking back at the police vehicles. He held his breath, but when the cars didn’t turn around, he relaxed. “It’s not like I planted the bomb.”

Zane scoffed and shook his head.

“We could go back and let them take you into custody,” Ty suggested as he flopped back around in his seat. He slumped down and rested his head back, frowning.

“No thanks,” Zane muttered.

Ty ignored him, his eyes scanning the sidewalk as they rode in silence. Ty’s knee started to bounce, and Zane wondered what Ty was doing in the middle of it all. He knew there were men who wanted Nick dead. Ty didn’t seem to fit the bill; he was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit no matter where Zane tried to stick it.

“What’s in it for you?” Zane asked, growing restless as he watched Ty fidget.

Ty turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re here to kill Nick, right? Why? He’s nowhere near the top of their radar, so who sent you here? Or is it a what?”

Ty ignored him, looking back out the cab window. They turned down a quieter street and drove on. The pain from the shrapnel sharpened at every bump, and Zane shook his head to clear it.

“Who are you? What’s your endgame here? The government knows that mobs are multi-headed organizations. If you kill Nick, another boss is just gonna come forward and take his place. That’s what happened when Paddy was taken out.”

“It isn’t about Nick,” Ty muttered, shaking his head.

“Who, then? The only person in the world who’d care about Nick’s death is already dead. The FBI can’t have any good reason for taking him out because the drug ring damn near runs itself.” The cab came to a stop outside the hotel, and Ty stepped out. He shrugged out of his jacket while Zane scrambled over the seat, wrapping it around Zane’s shoulders as he stood.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Ty growled, and turned to smile at a nearby couple giving them a strange look. He pushed Zane toward the automatic doors and flashed his badge at the front desk as they passed, ensuring they wouldn’t be stopped on the way to the elevators.

Zane’s head was reeling with the unanswered questions. He hadn’t considered that this might be personal for the agents. In the elevator bank, Ty punched the button, one hand under the jacket holding the handcuff chain. Zane looked at him, examining his features more closely than before. Ty was a mask. It was the only thing he was certain of.

The elevator doors opened and Ty pushed him inside, following closely. He pressed a button for one of the upper floors and waited for the doors to shut, not meeting Zane’s gaze.

Zane couldn’t find it in him to be angry that Ty had duped him. He’d practically walked into it, after all. He sighed at himself and leaned against the side of the elevator, glancing at Ty every now and then. The agent was visibly tense. Zane could hear his teeth grinding from where he sagged against the wall, and he could feel blood drying where pieces of Ty’s car had hit him. He didn’t appreciate being used as a shield, but had the roles been reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same.

“Could use your medic friend right about now,” Zane muttered, leaning his head against the wall.

“Why?” Ty asked, frowning at Zane. His eyes swept down the front of Zane’s body, registering the spots of blood blossoming here and there. Most of it had hit his chest, and he had a couple decent cuts across his face, but they weren’t near as bad they could’ve been. “You’ll live.”

“Gee, thanks,” Zane muttered, taking his weight again as the elevator doors opened.

“I’ve got stuff for it,” Ty sighed, taking Zane’s arm. He minded the abrasions and led his prisoner down the hallway, frowning at the door. He swore under his breath as he let them into the room and looked into the bathroom.

“What, did the maids not come through?” Zane drawled, kicking the door shut behind him. Ty ran a hand through his hair, knocking dust and small shards of glass loose.

“I had someone else here,” Ty muttered, glancing at Zane. He tilted his head, lips pursed. “How bad are those cuts?”

Zane shifted and tested his range of motion. “There are a couple still bleeding,” he admitted, testing the strength of the cuffs behind his back. “What do you mean you had someone here? A criminal?”

“Yeah.” Ty frowned into the bathroom, tilting his head. “Can’t imagine it’s coincidence that someone puts a target on my back and Nick’s in the same night. I’d bet money he’s the man that’s after your boss.”

“And why exactly were you expecting him to still be in your bathroom?” Zane took a step closer, glancing in as if he, too, expected someone there.

Ty turned toward the beds, shrugging. “I might’ve knocked him unconscious and cuffed him to the handrail.”

Zane whistled lowly. “Nice.”

“I try.” Ty dropped onto the far mattress and shrugged out of his jacket. He glanced warily at Zane as he pulled the Glock from his holster and set it on the bed, dragging the holster off and tossing it onto the table.

“Bureau pay for this?” Zane asked, glancing at the unmade beds. He sat down on the one closer to the door, perched at the end and ready to move if he needed to.

Ty glanced sideways at him, then at his gun. “No. They, uh… Don’t know we’re here.”

Zane’s eyebrows shot up as he adjusted his arms behind him. If the Bureau didn’t send them here, who did? “Have you gone rogue?”

“No, not like that,” Ty sighed. “It’s complicated.” He gestured toward the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you get blood everywhere.”

“Sure,” Zane muttered, hauling himself back onto his feet. “If I promise not to run, will you take these damn things off?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Ty scoffed, taking Zane by the arm. Ty escorted him to the bathroom, turning on the light as they entered. Zane leaned against the counter. He watched Ty open up a black leather kit and start rifling through it. The Marine pulled out a needle, a bottle of antiseptic, cotton swabs, and a tin of Rawleigh’s antiseptic salve. He laid everything out on the counter, then paused, looking at Zane’s shirt.

“I was trying to tell you earlier,” Zane muttered, wincing as Ty poked at a bloody spot on his ribs. “If you take me in to the federal building, they won’t do much except turn me loose.”

“And why’s that, tough guy? You got diplomatic immunity or something?” Ty asked, plucking at Zane’s shirt. He narrowed his eyes at it, then sighed and twirled his finger in the air. Once Zane had turned around, he pulled out the key to the cuffs. “You try anything funny, I’ll put you down.”

Zane rolled his shoulders as the cuffs came off, and brought his wrists around in front of himself to rub at them. He’d been arrested a time or two down in Miami to maintain his image, but it had been a while since he'd felt the bite of metal. He glanced at Ty’s reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“Lose the shirt,” Ty said, and Zane followed the instruction without protest. He grabbed at it and hissed as he pulled it off. Blood had dried in places, making the shirt stick to his skin. He dropped it into the sink and started the faucet, hoping the blood wouldn’t stain too badly. Zane leaned against the counter again and watched Ty adjust his materials.

“I don’t have diplomatic immunity, though that would be pretty nice,” Zane said finally. He took a deep breath. It felt like he was shedding skin. He’d been Xander Garza for long enough that dragging Zane Garrett out was like meeting a stranger.

Ty raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the clean wash towels, wet it in the sink, and started cleaning off the dried blood on Zane’s torso. “I’m still waiting for this epic reason I shouldn’t take you to jail.”

Zane gritted his teeth against the sting and leaned back on his hands so Ty had room and light to work. “I’m… I’m undercover,” he blurted out, and grimaced. Ty rolled his eyes.

“Nice try, hotshot.”

Zane closed his eyes and cleared his throat, dropping the Spanish accent he’d had for so long. “Just hear me out, okay? To the Cartel and the mob, I’m Xander Garza. To the FBI, I’m Zane Garrett.”

Ty snorted, placing his thumbs on either side of one of the longer cuts and pressing the skin back together. He glanced up at Zane, shaking his head. “Your accent is shitty at best. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Well it’s the only real accent I’ve got,” Zane snapped, flinching away from Ty’s hands. He growled softly and gripped the edge of the counter. “Don’t stitch it.”

“It’ll scar,” Ty warned, pinching the cut together again.

“I’ve got plenty, another won’t kill me. Just put the ointment on them.”

Ty shrugged, and picked up the well-loved Rawleigh’s tin and popped the lid off. The scent hit Zane like a punch to the gut, and he jerked his head in surprise. “So,” Ty muttered, dipping his fingers into the salve, smearing it across the various cuts on Zane’s torso. The relief was instant, but the smell was hard to overcome. Ty continued, seemingly unaffected. “You expect me to just believe you’re a fellow agent.”

“Well, I don’t exactly carry a badge around.”

“Right, that would be stupid. Kinda like getting high on the job, hm?” Ty raised an eyebrow and glanced up at Zane, his hand still moving. Zane pressed his lips together.

“It’s part of my cover,” Zane said softly, averting his gaze.

“I’m sure that’s worked on agents before,” Ty said, patting Zane’s belly. He moved on to the worst of the cuts, including the longest and deepest that framed one of Zane’s ribs.

“Six months ago I got promoted within the Cartel to one of De la Vega’s inner circle. I was about to get yanked from Miami before that happened.”

“Miami’s a cesspool. The Cartel runs the place. Only thing that’ll fix it is a nuke, so why would the Bureau send you there in the first place?”

“You saying you believe me?”

“No, I’m saying your story doesn’t add up.” Ty leaned back, searching for cuts he’d missed. There were a handful of minor scratches on Zane’s arms, but the major ones were all on his torso. Ty tapped Zane’s hip and raised his eyebrows at Zane’s legs. “Anything serious below the belt?”

“I’ve got plenty below the belt,” Zane smirked, glancing down at his thighs. There were a few visible holes in his jeans, and he could feel small bits of something catching on the inner material. “Yeah, there’s probably a couple worth looking at.”

“Lose the pants,” Ty ordered, wiping his hand on the already used towel.

“Aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?” Zane drawled.

Ty shot him a look. He shut off the faucet and stirred Zane’s shirt around in the water, watching it steadily turn red. Zane unbuckled his belt and wincing, carefully slid out of his jeans. The upside was that the pieces on his legs were all fairly big and would be easy to find. The downside was that they were all fairly big. Ty patted the counter, and Zane obediently hoisted himself up beside the sink, allowing himself to lean against the mirror. Ty pulled out his knife and took a closer look at the glass.

To distract himself, Zane closed his eyes and kept talking. It was helping him regain his normal accent. “I’ve been with the Bureau for almost twenty years; had my ups and down just like everybody else, only my downs were real fucking down. I cleaned up a few years ago and worked my way up through Cyber Crimes, then had this case kicked my way. I guess I figured it would play out like some kind of royal retribution, but all it got me was an extended stay in Boston.”

Ty clucked his tongue. “You should try avoiding the shrapnel next time,” he advised, flicking a piece of glass out. Zane yelped before he could stop himself, and thwacked his knuckles against Ty’s chest.

“Maybe you shouldn’t use me as a human shield,” he replied, hissing as Ty removed another piece and shrugged.

“Better you than me, pal.”

Zane huffed at him and tried to stay still, the cool steel blade just the right incentive to keep from flinching. “If you take me down there tomorrow, you’ll blow my whole damn cover. Right now those guys at the club are just thinking I took you home. If they find out I’m a Fed, they’ll deliver me straight to De la Vega, and I’ll be dead in eight hours. That’s _after_ he tortures me.”

“Yeah, well, what do you want me to do? You’ve got no ID and nobody who knows you’re here.”

Zane grit his teeth as Ty poked around the last piece. It was a larger, longer piece of red plastic – from a headlight, probably, about the size of his thumb – and Zane wasn’t relishing the pain from having it yanked. Ty glanced up, his eyes unreadable as he fingered the piece. He pursed his lips and straightened, and Zane broke the silence again, his voice bordering on desperate. “I can’t let you blow this, man. I’ve worked too hard for it.”

Ty watched him a moment longer. He glanced back down at the red shard and grabbed it, yanking the piece from Zane’s leg without warning. Zane held his breath as stars bloomed in his vision, his body bending in half. Ty tossed the piece onto the counter and Zane fisted his hands. “That one’ll need stitches.”

“Fuck you,” Zane whined, breathing slowly through his nose. His eyes burned at the edges and he had to blink back tears. “And I told you, no stitches.”

Ty snorted. “Funny,” he muttered, shaking his head. He scooped out a handsome glob of salve and plopped it right down on Zane’s leg, smearing it back and forth and into the crevice left behind.

“What’s funny?” Zane asked through gritted teeth. He forced his hands to relax and placed them flat on the counter, staring at Ty as he worked.

“A junky who doesn’t like needles,” Ty replied, adding just a bit more salve to the ends of the gash. He finally tilted his head and shrugged, putting the lid back on the tin and wiping his hands.

“I’m not a junky.”

“I’ve ran into you twice now, you’ve been high both times.” Ty pointed out, tossing the tin back into his kit. He put the leftover materials back in the bag and zipped it up, then tossed the bloody rag into the tub.

Zane watched as he drained the sink and rung out the shirt. Much of the blood had come out, but there were still a myriad of holes in the fabric. “I told you, it’s part of the job.”

Ty shrugged and retrieved a hanger from the closet. He returned, hanging the shirt up on the shower rod, and finally turned to look at Zane. “Job or not, you were off getting high while your boss got shot.”

“What the hell do you care? You were there to kill him, weren’t you?”

Ty tilted his head slowly. Zane felt like he was looking at an animal, not a human being. “I’m hungry,” he said finally. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Zane with his mouth hanging open.

Zane couldn’t shake the feeling that Ty’s endgame had changed.

∞

Kelly woke with a start, inhaling sharply. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was; then the ambulance ride came flooding back, and being forced to sit in the waiting area while Nick was wheeled into surgery.

The night nurse was speaking to him, and with a soft groan, Kelly straightened up. His head was throbbing and his throat was dry, and he realized belatedly that he hadn’t had anything to drink all afternoon. He’d been a little preoccupied.

“Sorry, can you say that again?” He asked, his voice rough with sleep. The nurse smiled at him.

“Your friend is out of surgery and should be waking up soon.”

“Oh,” Kelly mumbled, blinking slowly. The nurse patted his wrist and straightened, heading back to her desk. “Thank you,” he called out belatedly, and stretched his arms over his head. He was already sore.

Before leaving the waiting room, he drank about five cups of water. He had to stop at the nurse’s station to ask which room Nick was in, and after a short walk, found himself standing in the doorway to a dark room with a single bed. He could just barely see thanks to the moonlight streaming through the window.

Nick’s eyes were closed and his mouth slack. Asleep, he could be anybody. He could be a grocer, or a banker, or a florist. The usual hard lines were gone, replaced with a softness that almost comforted Kelly.

“You coming or going, Kels?”

Kelly blinked slowly, wondering if he’d actually heard Nick speak. He leaned forward, eventually forced to take a step, and found it in him to walk over to the bed. “Nick?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he sighed, his eyes opening slowly. “Question is, why are you?”

Kelly sighed and looked around the room, spotting a visitor’s chair in the corner. He retrieved it and sat down, placing himself on Nick’s injured side. He cleared his throat and leaned against the bed. “You asked me to stay with you.”

“No I didn’t,” Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes. When they landed on Kelly again, they betrayed his happiness that Kelly was there.

“Your exact words were, ‘Stay with me, just one more, come on, babe’,” Kelly quoted, doing his best impression of Nick’s voice just before orgasm.

“You’re making it weird,” Nick said, laughing. As it died off, he grew serious again. “You’re here to babysit, aren’t you,” he guessed.

“To keep you safe,” Kelly corrected, patting Nick’s thigh. “Ty didn’t catch whoever shot you. They’re still out there.”

“You gonna protect me, Kels?” Nick asked, his words slurring slightly. The next round of painkillers were hitting him fast and hard. Kelly swallowed, reaching for his free hand. The shoulder that had been shot was bandaged, the arm in a sling across his chest. His left hand was sitting in his lap. Kelly took it and brushed his thumb over the backs of Nick’s knuckles, watching his eyelids grow heavy.

“Just call me your guardian angel, Lucky.” Kelly smiled and closed his other hand over Nick’s, watching him closely. It took Nick an extra moment to respond.

“Lucky? Who’s lucky, the guy with the bullet in his shoulder? Or maybe the guy who fell… into bed with a man hired to kill him? How about the guy whose body guard went AWOL?” Nick forced a laugh, his eyes bright. “Joke’s on you, cause all three guys are me.”

Kelly’s smile faded. “You’re lucky the bullet missed your artery. And I’m backing out on this job, Nick. I’m too close already, and honestly… the reason we’re here just isn’t…” Kelly faltered for a few more seconds before standing up. He leaned over Nick, bringing a hand alongside his cheek, and he pressed his lips to Nick’s in favor of saying something profoundly stupid. He lingered, allowing the kiss to grow deeper than he’d intended.

“That’s cheating,” Nick grumbled halfheartedly as Kelly pulled away. “What was I saying?”

“You were telling me how good I am at sucking your dick.”

“As I recall, it was I who sucked your dick.”

“Maybe we should even the score,” Kelly smirked, placing a hand above Nick’s knee.

“Maybe you should cut that out,” Nick growled at him. His eyes were smiling again, but he was overtaken by a yawn that relaxed his entire body. “Promise you’ll stay,” he murmured, his eyes closing. Kelly tightened his grip on Nick’s hand.

“I’ll be waiting right here, Irish.”

∞

Ty was not stupid. Whether Zane was an agent or not was yet to be proven, and either way, he didn’t trust the man. Whoever he was – Zane Garrett, Xander Garza – Ty wasn’t about to risk his neck for anything other than room service.

Which was why he was currently sitting on his bed with a plate of chicken, rice, and steamed vegetables. Zane was on Kelly’s bed, one hand cuffed to the headboard. Ty had every intention of sleeping later, and he couldn’t do that if Zane was free.

Zane was wrestling with a burger, his hopes dashed shortly after dinner arrived when he realized Ty wasn’t going to give him use of both hands. He grumbled and growled and eventually managed to pick it up, miraculously avoiding dropping any condiments on his chest. He’d put his jeans back on once the salve had soaked in a little, but his shirt was still soaking wet and drying over the tub.

Ty glanced sideways at him, not even bothering to hide his amusement at Zane’s struggles. He stabbed the piece of chicken with his fork and bit off a chunk. He watched Zane for a little while, but even that grew boring after a few minutes. With a sigh, he plopped the chicken back onto his plate and picked at his vegetables.

“If you were sent to Miami, what are you doing here?”

Zane swore at his burger, dropping the mess it had become back to his plate. He resorted to picking it apart and eating it in pieces, starting with the bun. “Like I said earlier, I got into De la Vega’s inner circle. I got so close to him he sent me here as his personal emissary.”

“So you _are_ here to babysit O’Flaherty,” Ty supplied.

“Sort of.” Zane hesitated, wiping his hand on a napkin. He reached for the unopened Dr. Pepper on the bedside table and opened it, taking a long drink before he continued. “The Cartel has deals with the Irish mob. It’s a two way street, see? They supply the Cartel with an arsenal, and the Cartel fuels their drug ring.”

“An exchange, got it. Get to the part where you’re more than a pawn.”

Zane shot him a glare. “Nick is fairly new blood. He was practically kin to Paddy, but he didn’t really make that much of a name for himself before taking over. Not with the Cartel, at least. Nick’s boys won’t shut up about his reputation. De la Vega wanted me to make sure the transition would go smoothly.”

“Make sure your agreements were still good,” Ty nodded.

“Right. Thing is, Paddy wasn’t always on time with shipments. De la Vega was starting to get suspicious… if Nick wanted to back out of the deal, he wanted me here to take care of it.”

“Jesus,” Ty muttered, moving his plate aside. “You’re a missile and De la Vega’s got his thumb on the trigger.”

“Basically,” Zane grimaced. “Actually, that was the reason I left the boat earlier tonight. Things were getting heavy, in a nutshell, and I needed to contact my handler with the new orders from De la Vega.”

“New orders?” Ty asked weakly.

Zane hesitated. “It’s no longer a question of _if_ he wants Nick dead.”

“So you went off to make a call, leaving the target exposed.”

“He was with Kelly! I figured your man could keep him safe. He was supposed to stay below decks until I got back.”

“Yeah, but you never came back,” Ty growled, sliding over to the side of the bed and getting to his feet. “You decided to go get high with your Cartel buddies and laugh it up until your boss says jump.”

Zane set his own food aside and stood up as straight as he could with his wrist still attached to the bed. “Burns told me to blend in with the Cartel. He doesn’t care about N—”

“How do you know that name,” Ty asked, his voice low. His heartbeat thudded past his ears. Zane didn’t answer soon enough, and Ty asked again in a shout. He brought both hands up and shoved at Zane’s chest, his mind reeling. Could it be a coincidence? Had the information been leaked? It was improbable, but totally possible.

Zane nearly fell over from the assault, but he managed to catch himself and retain his balance. “Assistant Director Richard Burns! He’s the one who sent me down to Miami,” Zane replied, coiling as Ty became visibly worked up.

“Who gave you that name,” Ty growled, closing the distance between them.

“You don’t believe me? Fine,” Zane growled. He reached into his pocket, digging around for his cell phone. He had to lean away from Ty to get it out, but he finally managed and opened up his recent calls. “Call him and ask him yourself, Ty. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

Ty took one look at the cell phone, at the number he’d had memorized for six years. “Dick,” he murmured, taking the phone from Zane’s hand. “You’re a Fed,” he said, voice cracking in surprise.

Zane rocked back onto his heels and huffed. “That’s what I’ve been telling you this whole fucking time!”

“Shut up,” Ty muttered, dropping the phone in favor of grabbing Zane. Ty pulled him closer and kissed him, sucking hard at Zane’s bottom lip. After a moment, Zane cupped the back of Ty’s neck, kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Zane slid his hand down Ty’s spine, pulling their bodies together. If he’d known that all Ty needed was a little peace of mind, he’d have revealed his cover hours ago. He didn’t mind making up for lost time.

“Uncuff me,” he growled, sliding his mouth along Ty’s jaw.

“I think it might be more fun this way,” Ty chuckled, but he reached into his jeans anyway and fished out the key to Kelly’s cuffs. Zane let him go and watched Ty lean over the bed, releasing Zane’s wrist from the steel. He grabbed Ty as soon as he was free and pushed him down to the mattress, watching him bounce. Ty flipped onto his back, and for a moment Zane just looked. He’d thought about this more than once since their first meeting.

Zane crawled over Ty and bent to kiss his neck, sliding his tongue over the warm, salty skin. He straddled Ty’s waist, rolling his hips down. Ty groaned, his hands sliding over Zane’s hips and up his back.

“How’s this gonna work, Skippy?” Ty grunted, his head tipped back to give Zane room.

“Figure it out later,” Zane replied, dragging his teeth over Ty’s neck. He pulled back and kissed him again, rubbing his tongue against Ty’s.

“How much later? I don’t know if you noticed, but this is heading somewhere fast,” Ty said as he rolled his hips into Zane’s.

“Then we’ll figure it out fast, won’t we?” Zane raised an eyebrow and pushed himself up. He slid a hand under Ty’s shirt and pulled it upward, exposing the long lines of muscle that encased his entire body. Ty reached for the hem and pulled it the off rest of the way, his body arching as he did. Zane groaned and dipped his head, sucking a mark below Ty’s collar bone.

He made his way down Ty’s chest, pausing to tease and suck at Ty’s nipples.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” Ty laughed, his eyes trained on Zane’s mouth.

“And why’s that,” Zane mumbled, nipping at the soft skin just above Ty’s belly button. He soothed over it with his tongue and smirked when Ty shivered.

“For kicking your ass.”

“You did not kick my ass,” Zane protested, lifting his head up.

“Oh yeah? What’s with all those scratches on your back?”

“I fell,” Zane sniffed, scowling up at him. He brought his hands down on Ty’s hips, pressing him down into the mattress. He traced one of Ty’s hips with his nose, pausing once he reached the edge of his jeans. He hovered over the spot, blinking at a perfectly round and still somewhat pink scar. Recognizing it for what it was, his first instinct was to kiss it, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over so well with the Marine. His curiosity got the better of him, though. “What happened?”

Ty licked his lips, staring at Zane with an unreadable expression. He raised his chin and sighed, pushing Zane away. “You ruined the mood, asshole.”

“It was just a question,” Zane grumbled, releasing Ty’s hips. He slid off him entirely and sat up, leaning on his hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Ty shrugged and shifted up so he was sitting against the headboard. He crossed his ankles and picked up his discarded dinner, pushing around the leftovers. “I took a bullet for somebody. Simple as that.”

“A bullet is never simple. You were military, right?” Zane asked, nodding at Ty’s shoulder. The bulldog tattoo he’d recognized the other night was in plain view.

“What do you know about it?” Ty raised an eyebrow, rolling his shoulder forward so Zane could get a better look. He set the cold plate down on the nightstand and sat back after a few seconds.

“Kelly said something the other night. I did some research. Marines?”

Ty nodded. “Force Recon.” Zane hummed in response, his gaze lingering on the scar. He caught himself wondering who someone had to be for Ty to put his life on the line like that. Zane had been shot at once or twice before, mostly grazes. He didn’t relish the recovery time Ty must’ve faced. Before Zane could come up with a new subject, Ty sighed. “Do you really wanna know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Ty rolled his eyes. “Long story short, Doc was taking care of a bystander who’d gotten caught in a spat of crossfire. There was a man with a gun aimed at him. I got in the way.”

Zane pursed his lips and looked down at the bed, suddenly feeling like he’d pried a little too hard. “You Recon boys really take that brotherhood thing seriously, don’t you?”

“Oorah,” Ty smirked, tossing a carrot into his mouth. He crunched away and averted his gaze, but Zane had already noticed the sentiment didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d have done it for anybody,” he added quietly. “Recon or not.”

Zane sat there for a few extra moments and took stock of things. Ty no longer seemed hellbent on taking him into custody, although he wouldn’t put it past him to pull some other stunt. So far, all they had in common was their job, their mark, and their attraction to one another. He’d been in worse situations.

He mulled over the past couple of days, and kept coming back to the same question: “Who knows you’re here?”

Ty grunted and tilted his head.

“Well,” Zane started, flexing his hands. He’d noticed it earlier, but now that his focus had narrowed, he could feel himself growing twitchy. The adrenaline from the blast should’ve worn off ages ago. Ty frowned as Zane averted his gaze and continued. “You said the Bureau doesn’t know you’re here, right?”

“I said they didn’t pay for it,” Ty replied, folding his arms over his chest. Zane remained silent, looking down at his hands. He curled them into fists and hoped Ty wouldn’t mention it. “So puzzle me this,” Ty sighed, leaning forward until Zane met his gaze. “Who’s sending mercenaries to make sure we got a job done that has no paperwork?”

Zane pressed his lips together. “And why would they try to set Kelly up for murder.”

“What?” Ty asked sharply. “Whose murder? When?”

“The morning after Kelly first showed up. You didn’t hear about this? Nick’s best friend. They joined Paddy’s crew together. If the talk is true, they were closer than brothers.”

“Were,” Ty muttered, closing his eyes. He sat back against the headboard, smacking against it hard.

“Yeah,” Zane muttered. “Someone snuck onto the boat, took Kelly’s knife, and used it to slit Mikey’s throat like he was a cow headed for the slaughterhouse. There was no chance he survived it, but they wanted him to suffer. Shot him in the head once it was over. They did this to make a statement. Whoever’s got it out for you had to have been hoping Nick would take it to heart and want vengeance.”

“I know a thing or two about vengeance,” Ty said quietly.

“Well, lucky for Kelly, Nick’s got a thing for people who defy him. Kelly had Nick’s shotgun on him for over an hour and didn’t even look at it.”

Ty shrugged and frowned. “The things we saw in the desert? A shotgun wouldn’t have scared him.”

Zane nodded, unsure of what else to say after that. He rubbed at his shoulder, the muscles still stiff from the back-to-back fights with the Recon men. He stood up from the bed and started pacing, hoping to get rid of the lingering twitchiness.

“His throat was slit,” Ty said slowly. “How do you know they shot him _after_ he was dead?”

“There was no blood spatter,” Zane said, dropping his hand from his shoulder to his waist. “He’d already lost too much. The bed was…” Recalling the scene, Zane grimaced. “It was like a scene from a horror film.”

Ty closed his eyes and started rocking back and forth. “This whole thing was orchestrated,” he said softly. “All of it. We were pawns.”

“What are you talking about?” Zane glanced at him, watching Ty shake his head and sigh.

“How did Paddy die?”

With a shrug, Zane stopped pacing and faced Ty. He looked down and poked at the drying salve, the cuts shiny and pink. “I don’t know. I wasn’t around for that.”

Ty rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Nobody’s talked about it? Mentioned it?”

“Not to us. They didn’t trust us when we got here. Hell, with new blood in the mix, it was a miracle any work got done.”

Ty shook his head again and stood up, passing Zane. He rounded the foot of the bed, stepped over his bag, and crossed to the large window overlooking the street. Ty drew back the curtain and stared into the darkness, his reflection frowning. “The FBI doesn’t want Nick dead.”

“Then why are you here?” It felt like Zane was chasing his own tail, and Ty wasn’t helping. The FBI had sent Ty and Kelly to Boston, hadn’t they? If not to kill Nick, then why?

Ty’s reflection closed its eyes as he rubbed at his forehead. “Revenge.”

∞

The steady beeping near his head was more annoying than reassuring. Nick couldn’t recall much past the flashing lights of the ambulance. The last thing he remembered was a warm palm on his shin, and Kelly’s partner looking down at him.

“Kels?” he muttered, shifting. He couldn’t move his arm much, and the feeling of something weighing him down was all he was truly aware of.

“‘M right here, babe,” Kelly mumbled, squeezing his hand. Nick managed to open his eyes, and saw that there wasn’t a weight, it was just Kelly’s head.

“Where’s your partner?”

“He’s looking for Xander,” Kelly said, forcing himself to sit up. He rubbed at his face and yawned, his gaze turning toward Nick’s wounded shoulder.

It wasn’t the worst of his life, but it certainly wasn’t a peach either. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he was waking up with a headache and a sharp throbbing in his shoulder. His arm was fastened across his chest in an attempt to immobilize the muscles.

He couldn’t feel it, but he could see Kelly’s hand resting on his knee. Kelly was still half asleep, sitting in a hard plastic chair and draped against the side of Nick’s bed. It took effort to swallow, and then Nick cleared his throat, turning his hand so he could grip Kelly’s.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice hoarse; it felt like someone had shoved cotton balls down his throat.

Kelly chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from Nick’s face to their hands. “Let me get you some water, okay?”

Before Nick could protest, Kelly was standing. He pulled free from Nick’s grasp and headed out of the room, stretching his arms as he went. He wasn’t gone long, and when he returned, he had two styrofoam cups.

“I’ve got ice and I’ve got water. Which one do you want?”

“The water,” Nick whispered, reaching for the cup Kelly held out to him. He drained what was in it and sat back, allowing Kelly to take the cup from him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he sighed, closing his eyes. The pain in his shoulder grew sharper with every passing minute, and he wondered if it would reach a threshold or just keep on going.

“What are you talking about?” Kelly frowned, sliding back into his chair. “You asked me to stay. For real, this time.”

“I did?” Nick frowned, glancing toward the door. “It’s not safe for you, Kelly. I think you should go.”

“What?” Kelly frowned, rubbing at his neck with a grimace. “This is a hospital. What safer place is there? Besides,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. “If anybody needs protecting, it’s you.”

Nick glared at Kelly. “Someone is trying to kill me. They sent you first, and when you failed, they sent someone else. You need to leave before they figure out you’re important to me.”

“Are you… Do you think the same people sent…” Kelly shook his head. “Nick, you’ve just come out of surgery. Calm down, okay?” He reached across Nick, thumbing the button that would send another dose of painkillers into his IV.

“Kelly…”

“Listen. They’re not going to let just anybody waltz in here, okay? If they do, I’ll take care of it. Just like I took care of Xander.”

A nurse stepped into the room as Kelly was speaking, and he stepped back from the bed so the man could do his job. Nick’s gaze never left Kelly, who frowned the entire time. By the time the nurse finished checking his stats and left, Nick was starting to feel weightless and pain free once more.

“Please, Kelly…”

“I’ll be fine,” Kelly insisted, placing his hand over Nick’s. “I can handle myself.”

∞

“That’s why you didn’t kill Nick, isn’t it?” Zane asked quietly. “He was already down. You could’ve just taken the shot and gone home, but you didn’t. Why?”

Ty sighed and turned away. He’d relived Eli’s murder scene a hundred times, and it still made him sick to his stomach. That someone could do that to another human being… “It’s complicated.”

“You mentioned that earlier. I’m starting to think it’s less about complicated and more about your own confusion.”

Ty scowled and turned back to the window. He was growing restless the longer they sat there talking. “I thought… Eli’s killer was in New York. We had everything that pointed to the O’Malleys, to the mob. Piles of evidence that said they were the ones who did it. So we killed O’Malley and took out his inner circle. We left a bullet in each one of them, and do you know how it felt?” Ty glanced over his shoulder, meeting Zane’s gaze for just a few moments.

“Like it didn’t matter,” Zane offered softly.

“Bingo. And Burns, well… he knew.” If Burns hadn’t been the Assistant Director of the FBI, they never would’ve gone in the first place. He was as close to Ty’s father as Ty was to his boys; if anyone understood, it was Dick Burns. Burns was family, and when he called, Ty jumped. It just so happened that Ty had special interest in that particular case.

“Why go through all this?” Zane said, standing from the bed. He walked to the table, where all of Ty’s files were laid out in a way that only made sense to Ty. He frowned at them all, nudging some aside to see the ones underneath; Eli’s bed was among the crime scene photos. It was even worse than Mikey’s. Grimacing, Zane slid the files back over, hiding it from view. “I mean, why not just kill Nick and have it over with?”

“Who knows?” Ty muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “Criminals do crazy shit all the time.”

Zane picked up Eli’s FBI file. He skimmed through the information; most of it was classified information, blacked out from his time in the Marines. Zane sighed as he put it back. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.” He turned toward Ty, walking cautiously up to stand beside him.

“Which question was that?” Ty murmured, his gaze focused on the darkness beyond the window. Zane watched him in the glass, his frown creating a deep crease in his brow.

“You could’ve been done with this whole thing if you’d just let Nick bleed out. You could’ve washed your hands of the whole mess and been none the wiser.”

“Because…” Ty shrugged, turning to face Zane. He searched for the words, and finally his shoulder slumped in defeat. “It didn’t feel right,” he said, frowning. “I’m a trained killer, Zane. It’s what I do. But killing Nick just didn’t feel right. I don’t know that it ever did. Besides, Kelly said that there was something else in play. I might be ready to throttle him, but Kelly’s not stupid enough to be played. And he’d never have let Nick just die.”

Zane nodded slowly. “When I told Burns about De la Vega’s plans, he said they’d extract me as soon as the orders were given. Nick’s an asshole, but I kinda like him.”

“You do seem like the asshole type,” Ty smirked, facing the window again. He unfolded and refolded his arms restlessly.

Zane tried to shake the feeling that he was overlooking something important. There wasn’t anything glaringly obvious, and he knew he’d only drive himself crazy if he stood there trying to pry it from his mind.

Ty sighed as he did an about face and walked toward his bag. “I’m going to take a shower. Thanks for your help.”

 _“De nada,”_ Zane muttered, turning to follow Ty with his gaze. He cocked his head curiously. “What for?”

Ty shrugged, bending over to dig around for a clean t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Zane stepped closer as he did, and Ty startled slightly when he straightened. He shrugged again. “For turning out to be a decent guy, I guess,” he said, fisting his hands in his clothes.

Zane raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes boring into Ty’s. He slid a hand onto Ty’s hip and paused, jaw working. Finally, he opened his mouth again, his words drenched in the Spanish accent he’d sported until about an hour before. “You never would have made a move if I wasn’t.”

“No,” Ty agreed readily, his tongue darting out as he licked his lips.

Zane smirked, drifting closer. He dropped the accent again. “You like it when I talk Spanish, don’t you?”

“No,” Ty said again, his lips twitching.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Zane mumbled, leaning in until he was a breath away from kissing Ty. His blood thrummed. He tugged the rest of Ty closer until he could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Ay, papi,” Ty smirked, dropping the clean clothes back to the floor. Zane growled and kissed him, guiding Ty back to the bed. They fell onto it together, Ty’s leg hooked over his hip before they even hit the mattress. Zane pressed into his mouth and lapped at his tongue, working Ty further onto the bed with short, hard tugs. By the time Ty’s head hit the pillow, Zane was already working down his chest; this time, he didn’t hesitate to undo Ty’s jeans and pull them all the way off.

Ty’s boxers followed, and Zane licked a line from his belly button to his collar bone, settling down against him once more. “I don’t bottom well,” Ty grunted, his hands skimming down Zane’s ribs. He arched up into Zane’s mouth, hissing when Zane dragged his teeth across sensitive skin.

“That’s alright,” Zane muttered, soothing the sting with a slow pass of his tongue. The dichotomy made Ty shiver, and then he was hastily unbuttoning Zane’s jeans, pushing them down over his ass. Ty was hard already, rubbing himself up against Zane’s clothed erection. It took him just a few moments to pull back and kick out of his boxers, then he covered Ty again, working one hand down to grasp Ty’s cock.

“Is this how you want it?” Ty growled, his nails digging into Zane’s back.

“Hard and fast, doll,” Zane drawled, giving Ty’s cock a squeeze. “I don’t exactly have the necessary items, though, so you’ll have to help me out.”

“In my bag,” Ty hissed, pushing at Zane’s shoulders. He dumped Zane on his ass and scrambled off the bed, muscles moving fluidly under his scarred skin. He rummaged around in his bag for a few seconds before tossing a condom and a small bottle of lube on the bed.

“Get back over here,” Zane growled at him, his eyes scanning down the front of Ty’s body. Ty followed the order immediately, crawling up the bed to straddle Zane’s hips. He rocked down against Zane’s cock and bit back a groan, but Zane had other things in mind.

He wrapped an arm around Ty’s back and rolled them over. He reached blindly behind him, grabbing the condom and lube, before settling back on top of Ty. He pulled Ty’s legs around him, knowing full well that Ty was letting him do it. Zane bent down, sucking a bruise into the side of Ty’s neck. He popped the cap on the lube and slicked up two of his fingers, pulling back just enough to see Ty’s face as he reached between them. He slid his hand back, slick fingers sliding along the cleft until he found Ty’s hole. He waited a breath, looking for any sign that Ty might change his mind.

“Come on,” Ty urged, biting his bottom lip. He pressed his hips up, seeking more contact, and Zane was happy to oblige. He wriggled his middle finger past the tight ring of muscle, listening to Ty’s groan of encouragement. He pressed in until he could go no further and gave his finger a twist as he backed out. “More,” Ty growled, his blunt nails digging into Zane’s back again.

Zane added a second finger and leaned down to lick at Ty’s neck. The other man was tense beneath him, but pressing back, silently asking for more. Zane wanted nothing more than to sink into him already, but didn’t want to rush into it. Ty could still kick his ass up and down the block, and it wasn’t something Zane wanted to bring upon himself.

He waited until Ty was good and ready, until his chest and neck had broken out in sweat and his cock was red and flushed. Only then did Zane withdraw his fingers and rip open the condom wrapper, sliding it down his cock in a hurry. He added a little extra lube and placed one hand on the mattress, using the other to guide himself to Ty’s entrance. He paused, glancing up at Ty’s face one last time.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ty hissed, pulling at Zane with his knee; Zane flashed a grin and pushed forward, sinking into Ty. He groaned, gripping Ty’s hip too tight, and rolled his hips experimentally.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Zane growled, biting down on his bottom lip. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Ty’s, his entire existence narrowing down to Ty’s breath and the pleasure sparking up his back.

Zane drew his hips back and, one hand keeping Ty in place, thrust back in. Ty gasped and rose up to meet him, and Zane let go of his self control in favor of a pace that drove him quickly to the edge. He growled and pressed his mouth to Ty’s neck, doing his best not to make too much noise.

Ty snaked his hand between them, his knuckles brushing Zane’s stomach as he stroked himself. He swore under his breath and bent his head, biting at Zane’s shoulder.

“Ty,” Zane groaned, his hips snapping ruthlessly forward and back.

“Don’t stop,” Ty growled, tightening his fist. Zane pushed himself up and grabbed Ty’s hips, using the extra leverage to thrust harder. Ty’s back bowed off the bed, and he pressed the back of his fist into his mouth to muffle his moans. Zane watched him come undone and rode through the aftershocks, his own orgasm ripping through him as Ty closed in around him.

Eventually Zane slowed to a stop, still buried in Ty’s ass, and he dropped forward onto his hands. Ty’s eyes were closed, his legs having fallen open, and Zane peered at him. “You alright?”

Ty groaned, cracking one eye open just to scowl at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Zane muttered, pulling out gingerly. He rolled onto his back beside Ty and let out a breath, thinking that Ty had been just as good as he’d been hoping.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Nick woke to the sound of erratic beeping, and distantly wondered if it was the heart monitor going haywire, if he was about to die. He opened his eyes, still heavily drugged, and was met with a dark room and three darker, blurry shapes.

When he tried to call out, no sound came; his throat was dry and his tongue far too heavy. The three shapes blended and shifted, the high squeaks coming from their direction.

It was difficult to throw off the lingering stupor from his painkillers; trying to do so made his vision swim. He realized after a few heartbeats that it was the sound of shoes scuffling along the sterile hospital floors. Blood thudded past his ears, making his head pound.

Where was Kelly?

He blinked as fast as he could, willing the haze to lift from his vision. He could make out the huffing and grunting of someone trying to quietly take someone away.

Nick tried to speak, but couldn’t. He fought the effects of the drugs for a few more seconds, long enough to see one of the three shapes slump into the arms of another. His heart sank as his eyelids fell.

 _Kelly_.

∞

There was light coming through the balcony window, and Ty grumbled at it as he turned away. A warm body was sprawled beside him, draped on its side and snoring softly. Zane’s scent, a recognizable combination of sweat and sex, enveloped Ty. Zane didn’t wake when Ty burrowed into him, pressing his face under the pillow Zane’s head rested on. He curled his arm around Zane’s waist and up his warm back, pulling their bodies flush together.

Zane draped an arm over Ty, grumbling sleepily as Ty wedged a leg between Zane’s. It was sufficiently dark and warm and Ty sighed, sinking into sleep again.

“Didn’t peg you for a cuddler,” Zane rumbled; Ty could feel the vibrations in his chest, and he patted Zane’s back gently.

“It’s not cuddling.”

Zane snorted, turning his head. He rooted under the pillow and pressed his nose behind Ty’s ear, stubble scratching at Ty’s cheek. “If you say so.”

Ty huffed. “Shouldn’t you go check up on your buddy Nick?”

Zane rolled to his back, ruining the cocoon of warmth Ty had made for himself. Ty scowled at him and snatched up the pillow, pulling it back over his head and wrapping the blanket around himself. Zane stood up and started searching for his clothes, apparently taking Ty’s question to heart.

After a few moments, Ty gave up trying to sleep, and tossed the pillow aside to watch Zane button his pants.

“It’s much more fun taking those off,” he observed, propping his head on his hand so he could watch Zane. The small cuts and scrapes were all pink and fresh, the shine from the salve completely gone. “Healed up well,” he grunted, and rolled onto his stomach so he could stretch out. He held it until his muscles shook, then relaxed, and bunched the pillow up under his chin.

“As much as I’d love to just sit around all morning, I should probably get to the hospital and find out what I can about Nick.”

“Just call Kelly,” Ty said, stifling a yawn. He let his eyes drift shut, the sun warming his back as it streaked through the room. “Phone’s somewhere.”

“Helpful,” Zane grunted, leaving his belt undone. He crossed to the foot of the bed, pressing his palm to Ty’s calf as he passed. Ty murmured, burrowing under the pillow again as he turned onto his side. He was vaguely aware of Zane ruffling through his things, surprised to find he didn’t care.

“Kelly’s not answering,” Zane said a few moments later, frown evident in his voice.

“Yeah, he does that around Nick,” Ty grumbled. He needed to have a talk with his partner. “Let’s head down there.” He threw back the covers and spent some time untangling himself from them, before managing to stand beside the bed. He looked Zane up and down, licking his lips. “We’ve got time for a shower, right?”

Zane looked up at him, tearing his eyes away from the phone in his hand. He smirked slowly. “Probably.”

∞

Late winter sunlight streamed through the window to Nick’s hospital room. It warmed his feet and legs, but when he shifted, he couldn’t sense Kelly in the room at all. Before he even opened his eyes, he was filled with the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong.

Had Kelly gone to the bathroom? Maybe stepped out to get food? It was entirely possible he’d decided to heed Nick’s warning and get the hell out of dodge, yet for the life of him, Nick couldn’t ease his fears. Kelly wouldn’t have gone without letting him know, either by waking him up or leaving a note.

Nick looked around, his head feeling about three times bigger than normal. There was no note in sight, just a rolling tray with a large cup of water sitting close by, right where he’d left it. When he lifted his arm, his vision swam, and he closed his eyes against the urge to vomit.

“Nurse?” Nick called out, his voice weak. He grunted softly and cracked an eye open. No note. No sound other than the monitor beside him. Nothing but a sense, really, that Kelly was in trouble. When had Nick started caring about him?

_Probably somewhere in the four orgasms you gave him._

He looked at the door, which had been open the last time he’d been awake. His gaze fell to the floor, trying to make sense of the black marks all across the laminated tile. He blinked, willing away the fog coating his brain.

It came back in broken fragments; the blurred shapes. The sound of fists landing on soft flesh and resulting in muffled grunts. The squeaks of shoes on the ground that he’d mistaken for his heart monitor going haywire.

“Kelly,” Nick murmured, trying to find it in him to be anything but worried. He struggled to a sitting position and waited for the room to stop spinning. When it did, he looked around. Hanging across from his monitor were three bags. He remembered there being three, but something was different about them. Hadn’t they all been clear? The one closest, which fed into the IV on the back of his hand, was a light pink color.

“Nurse?” Panic bubbled up, making his voice crack.

Still no reply. Nick swallowed, fumbling with the tube attached to his hand. He picked up a section and pinched it off, praying it would keep any more from entering his bloodstream. Holding the tubing in one hand, he slowly turned toward the rolling table. His cell phone was sitting on it, but his other arm was still stuck against his chest. He grunted his way out of the canvas sling and leaned over, nearly losing his balance as he slapped his hand down on the cell phone.

Pain radiated in slow waves as his fingers closed around the device. It helped to clear his head, bringing the room into sharp focus, but it doubled the nausea making his gut clench.

He dialed Zane, resisting the urge to throw up as he listened to the tone.

∞

“What’s that?” Zane panted, pulling away from Ty’s mouth. They hadn’t gotten as far as the shower.

“I don’t know, just don’t fucking stop,” Ty groaned, fisting a hand in Zane’s hair. He tugged and bit at Zane’s bottom lip, urging his hips faster. “I’m so close, Zane, so help me, if you stop—”

“Would you shut up?” Zane growled, clamping his hand over Ty’s mouth. Ty glared up at him, but then Zane changed the angle of his hips, and Ty moaned into him as his eyes rolled. Zane snaked his other hand between them and wrapped it around Ty’s cock.

Ty reached up and grabbed Zane’s wrist, pulling his hand aside. He then curled his fingers around the back of Zane’s head and pulled him down, kissing him hard as his orgasm overtook him. Zane grunted and gave in to the sensations crawling up his spine, pressing his face against Ty’s cheek.

He stayed that way just long enough for Ty to unwrap his legs, then Zane shifted onto his elbows and knees and crawled off the bed. The moment he found his feet, his phone started ringing again. He prayed he hadn’t missed any other calls while he’d been screwing around with Ty, as fun as screwing Ty was.

Zane looked at the ID, his heart sinking as he read the name. He answered it without hesitation and whirled, pressing his finger to his lips so Ty knew to stay quiet.

“Nicky?”

“Xander,” Nick grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Somebody fucking poisoned me. I knew Kelly should have left, but did he listen? No. He stayed. Like an idiot. ‘I’ll take care of it’. Sure, Kels, y’handled it real fuckin’ well.”

“Slow down,” Zane sighed, rubbing over the bridge of his nose. “Where is Kelly?” On the bed, Ty froze, in the middle of running his hands down his torso. It was a bid to distract Zane, and he was loathe to admit how tempting it was to toss the phone. Ty rolled to his knees on the bed, his face suddenly hard.

“I don’t know,” Nick growled. “Same people took him who poisoned me. They’re gonna have Hell to pay for this.”

“So Kelly’s gone?” Zane asked, putting a hand on Ty’s chest to keep him out of reach. If Ty really wanted the phone, he could get it, but Zane hoped he’d wait.

“What are you, deaf? Get your ass down here,” he snarled, and promptly hung up the phone.

Zane turned to Ty, ignoring the question in his eyes. “I’m pulling the plug. They tried to kill Nick again, and this time they took some collateral.”

Ty scrambled off the bed, making a beeline for his bag. Zane had to admire how quickly he could change gears, but he also knew who Kelly was to Ty. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Zane bent and started putting his jeans on for a second time that morning.

∞

After retrieving Zane’s car from the club, they headed straight for the hospital. Zane drove just as perfectly as he’d done a few days prior, when Ty had tailed him; it was infuriating for Ty, given he had a partner whose life was most certainly on the line. After parking, Zane had turned to Ty, his dark eyes imploring as he asked Ty to wait.

He’d huffed and put up a token argument, but in the end, Zane had pointed out that seeing them together wouldn’t be anything good in Nick’s eyes. Ty eventually relented, and now stood leaning against the car awaiting Zane’s return.

He drummed his fingers impatiently against his arm, trying to fight the chattering of his teeth. Despite the sunlight warming the metal around him, the morning was brutally cold. Ty’s thin black sweatshirt did little to combat the cold. He knew the inside of the car would be warmer, and he had the option to crank the heat since Zane had left the keys, but sitting around doing nothing was far worse than _standing_ around doing nothing. Hurry up and wait was not a game Ty played well.

Eventually, Zane came striding back across the lot, frown firmly in place. Ty managed to hold back his questions until they were both back in the car, and Zane had turned the key in the ignition. Before he could even open his mouth, Zane had his phone out, dialing and pressing it immediately to his ear.

He grunted after a moment, nodding to himself. “Send some guys to the hospital. They tried to hit him again.” He hesitated, gaze flickering to Ty. “I need someone in his room at all times.”

Ty grit his teeth and looked out the passenger window, resisting the urge to crawl into the driver’s seat himself.

“Yes, sir.” Zane said, then dropped the phone into his lap, turning his attention to Ty and apparently switching gears. He put the car in drive and pulled away as he spoke. “Why would they take Kelly?”

“They already killed one of my brothers. They’re pissed off that we didn’t finish the job they started. Now they’re taking it out on Kelly. Only this time, I’m gonna kill them first.” Ty didn’t bother buckling himself in; he wanted the fastest route from him to throttling the man who’d taken his partner.

“You think it was the same guy from last night?” Zane frowned. “Nick said ‘they’. Must be more than one.”

“Has to be. Who else could snag Doc? I got lucky knocking him out like I did; if Kelly was focusing on Nick, nobody to watch his back, he could grab him. Especially if there was more than one of them.”

“Okay.” Zane took a breath, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He was turning in circles, trying to keep in the area where Kelly had last been seen. Ty knew there wasn’t any better option, but he still felt there was more they could be doing. “Where would they even take him? How do they expect you to find him?”

“They know where our hotel is. Maybe somewhere close to that?” Ty finally met Zane’s eyes. He swallowed and looked back at the street.

“What’s the one place that would definitely bring the heat if an agent was found dead?”

“I don’t know,” Ty ground out, rubbing his hand through his hair. The car jerked to a stop and Ty cursed, having to catch himself against the dashboard. He ignored Zane’s apology and stared at the stoplight hindering their progress. “Hospital?”

“Nurse’s station said they left some time just before dawn.”

“School?”

“That’s local PD, especially if you guys are rogue.”

“We aren’t,” Ty snapped. The car moved forward again as soon as the light changed.

“But that’s how they’ll see it, if you don’t have official orders to be here,” Zane reasoned. Ty scowled at him and looked out the window, wracking his brain for any clue as to Kelly’s whereabouts.

At the same time Zane smacked his forehead, Ty slammed his head back against the headrest.

“A mob boss’s boat.” Zane’s voice was soft and filled with dread, and Ty’s heart sank. That boat would be damn near impossible to take from a couple of hitmen, especially when they had a hostage.

“Worth a shot,” Ty grunted as Zane pulled into a parking garage so they could switch directions and head back toward the marina. It was possible Kelly had been there all along; the thought made Ty’s gut clench uncomfortably.

At the gate, Zane swiped his key card, and soon they rolled to a stop at the end of the lot. They were well out of the line of sight from the boat, which was both a blessing and a curse. Ty wished his car hadn’t been blown up; he might have had some equipment to make this rescue go much smoother.

He glanced out at the marina, wondering if there would be any indication that someone was there who shouldn’t be. He was slipping quickly into his training, and squinted down the long line of boats to the far end where the Fiddler was almost permanently docked.

“What are the odds that you know a back way to the boat?” Ty asked, turning to look at Zane.

“There aren’t any. It’s why he tethers it at the end, so there aren’t any unsavory surprises.”

Even though he’d expected that answer, Ty swore softly and opened the door. Zane followed suit and shut the door quietly, leaning against the car. “What’s the plan?”

Ty’s gaze flicked away from the docks and he cocked his head, looking at Zane. “Is there any way you can get to the back of the boat without being seen?”

Zane hesitated, his dark eyes flickering from the docks and back to Ty. “Technically. Yes.”

“And?”

Zane sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you want to sneak up on the boat, you have to do it from the water.”

“That’s perfect!” Ty said, setting his hands against the car. “I’ll come down the dock and distract them, you swim around the back.”

“Sure, and get hypothermia,” Zane grinned, pumping his voice with fake enthusiasm. He scowled immediately and continued. “And what if that backfires? What if he just shoots you, shoots Kelly, and calls it a day?”

“Then he was going to do that anyway,” Ty shrugged.

Zane pursed his lips, staring back at Ty. “Fuck,” he muttered, turning away from the car. He reached for the hem of his sweater and pulled it off, trying to ignore the chill in the air. Ty felt a pang of sympathy for him; the water would be close to freezing. Zane wouldn’t have much time to get to the boat before the symptoms of hypothermia would take firm hold. As he started to strip, Ty rounded the nose of the car, accepting Zane’s clothing as he removed it.

Ty knew how to handle someone who was about to put their life on the line and wasn’t trained for it. “When you hit the water, you’re going to go into a little bit of shock. It’ll pass.” Lie. “Just keep your head, and try to keep your arms in close; you lose the most body heat from your pressure points.” Ty gestured to his armpit. “When you come out of the water, you’re gonna be dealing with wind chill, too. Shivering, dizziness, nausea. Fight it. Stay grounded, that’ll pass, too.”

Zane nodded, and soon enough he was standing barefoot in front of Ty. He’d gotten himself down to jeans, his t-shirt, and his knives. “It’s just a swim. Did it all the time back in Miami.”

Ty snorted, opening the back door so he could dump all of Zane’s clothes on the seat. “Swim around to the boat. I’ll hold their attention as long as I can,” Ty said, watching Zane remove his gun. He checked the sheaths for his wrist knives, ensuring they would stay secure. He then bent over, adjusting the ankle strap on yet another knife. By the time he finished checking them all, Ty was starting to think twice about sending him into the water.

There were goosebumps traveling over Zane’s forearms, making the fine hairs stand on end. He ignored them and nodded. “Alright.”

Ty sucked in a breath. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Zane sighed, nodding. He rubbed his hands over his arms and looked over the edge of the parking lot. There were rocks he could climb down to get to the water, and then he could swim around using the docks for guidance.

“Zane,” Ty murmured, stepping closer and setting a hand on his hip. He waited until he was looking into Zane’s dark eyes. “Thank you,” he said, just letting his nose brush against Zane’s. “For helping me.”

“What the Hell else am I gonna do?” He grinned, tilting his head so he could kiss Ty. It started off brief and light, but then he wrapped his arms around Ty’s waist and pulled him into a deeper one. He let Ty go after a few extra heartbeats and promptly turned toward the water, leaving Ty to catch his breath.

Zane slipped quietly into the frigid water, and Ty hastily collected himself. He started down the dock, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in his chest. He could tell himself as much as he wanted that it was just another mission, but there was no denying the very real possibility that not everyone would make it out of this one. He turned the corners of the dock at a brisk pace, and finally stopped at the last one, using another boat for cover. Once he stepped out, he’d have just forty feet between himself and the men who’d taken Kelly.

He crouched and peered around the bottom of the bow, both relieved and disappointed to see the figures occupying it. Sitting on the flybridge with a high-caliber rifle was a thin, light-haired man. The wind pulled at him, his hair tossing as he spoke to someone on the bow. It was the same man Ty had cuffed in his bathroom.

Kelly’s hands were behind him, and Zane’s doppelganger had him by the upper arm. Even at this distance, he could see the way Kelly arched away from the man. He knew that posture anywhere; Kelly had a gun at his back.

Ty stood from his crouch and checked that both his and Zane’s guns were still safely tucked in his jeans. It was now or never; he stepped out around the last corner and put his hands in the air as he started down the decking. The blond man was already behind his rifle, and when Ty glanced down, he spotted the red dot square in the middle of his chest. At one point in time, he’d thought he was done being pinned under a sniper, but all he’d really done is traded in a life getting shot at in the desert for a life getting shot at on home soil.

He came to a stop and sighed, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t gotten closer. There was still a good fifteen or twenty feet to the bow.

“Come on, man,” Ty called out, spreading his hands to show that he didn’t have anything in them. Zane’s doppelganger had turned, pulling Kelly about with him; he had his gun pressed to Kelly’s temple and one hand around Kelly’s neck.

“Don’t come any closer,” he called back.

Ty spread his hands wider. “I’m good right here.” He knew it was just his imagination, but he could practically feel the dot from the sniper’s scope settling on his forehead. It made Ty’s skin feel hot and prickly. “Look,” he called out, trying not to sound desperate, “you’re gonna kill us both anyway, right?”

“Not if you finish your job.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t really do that. Our orders changed.”

“That’s a shame, Grady. That’s a real shame.”

“Well, that isn’t fair,” Ty grumbled, dropping his elbows a few inches. He raised his voice again. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“It’s Cross, not that either of you will live long to tell about it.”

“Wait!” Ty yelled, taking a hasty step forward. Cross tightened his grip on Kelly, and Ty stopped obediently. “Just wait. Tell me, why did you have to have a couple of Feds doing your dirty work?”

Cross opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out a cry cut through the air. He twisted about and looked up at the flybridge. The blond man reared up on his knees, a knife sticking out of his shooting arm. He turned and met Zane as the man came over the stern rail.

“Preston!” Cross shouted, too close to the bridge to see anything going on above him. Kelly seized the opportunity and lifted his chin, making it easier to slide down and out of the hold Cross had on his throat. He caught himself and tipped forward, using the momentum to send him a few feet away. He kicked out blindly and caught Cross in the gut, sending the two of them in opposite directions.

A single shot rang out as Kelly stumbled sideways. There was a wall that divided the walkway in front of the pilothouse from the bow, and Kelly made for it, landing on his stomach. He kicked his feet up and fell over it as Cross caught himself on the bow railing.

Ty pulled his Glock and started toward the bow, his eyes on Cross as the man headed toward where Kelly had disappeared. Ty could only pray he’d moved as Cross raised his gun and fired again. There wasn’t a peep from Kelly, just the sound of his boots searching for purchase on the fiberglass flooring.

Meanwhile, the two men continued to grapple up on the flybridge. Zane took advantage of the wound in Preston’s arm by coming hard at his right side. Preston pulled the knife out with a pained snarl and drew his hand back, flipping the blade around, ready to jam it into Zane’s neck. Zane ducked under his arm, thrusting his shoulder into Preston’s sternum. They tumbled over the rear of the flybridge and out of sight.

Ty approached the bow, scanning the pilothouse for any sign of his walkway. “Cover, Kelly,” he shouted; Cross stopped and turned toward him. Ty watched Kelly duck around the far side of the cabin. He popped back up a moment later, just visible through the tinted windows. He’d broken the zip-tie on his wrists and held them up for Ty to see, rubbing them as he watched.

Cross snarled as he realized he was fully exposed and without cover, but just as their eyes met, Ty took aim and fired. Half a second later, a second shot rang out, but Cross was already dropping below Ty’s line of sight.

“Kelly!” Ty called out, all but praying that Kelly was unharmed. Ty glanced up to the last place he’d seen Zane and hoped he was doing okay. He lowered his gun and swore, feeling a burning, stinging sensation across his left bicep. He glanced down and hissed, his flesh torn open by Cross returning fire. It wasn’t deep, but it stung like a bitch. He ignored it for the time being and hurried around to the stern, climbing aboard the yacht with no thought to his own safety. He kept his gun in his hand, ready to aim and fire again, and swept through the salon toward the pilothouse.

By the time he slipped out the side door and rounded the narrow walkway where Cross had been, Kelly was standing over his captor. Cross scowled up at both of them and pressed his hand to his wounded shoulder, ignoring the two pistols trained on him.

Ty glanced at his partner, relief flooding him at the sight of Kelly alive and mostly well. He had a split lip and a bruise blossoming over his cheek, and he was favoring his left knee. But he was okay, and that was good enough for the time being.

“Nice to see you, Six.” Kelly smirked and met Ty’s gaze, his changeable eyes tired but smiling. “What took you so long?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“You were gone all of four hours, Kelly,” Ty rolled his eyes. He came up beside Kelly and looked down at Cross with a curl in his upper lip. After a momfent, he shifted his gun to his other hand and threw a hard right hook, ignoring Kelly’s raised eyebrow. Cross turned his head with the blow but didn’t make a sound.

“Feel better?” Kelly asked as Ty straightened.

“A little. Let’s get him inside before he bleeds all over your boyfriend’s boat.”

It turned out to be far easier said than done; Cross put up a token struggle even as Ty pulled out his handcuffs and advanced on him. Ty’s bullet had gone straight through the meat of his left arm, and it was indeed bleeding quite a bit. He’d lucked out on a through and through, not that Ty would have felt generous enough to take him to the hospital.

“Up you go, Boy Scout,” Ty grumbled, grabbing Cross around the arm, his fingers an inch or two below the wound. Cross snarled at him, but let Ty drag him to his feet. They struggled across the front of the pilothouse and in through the side door; soon, but not soon enough, Ty had him cuffed under the table. If he really tried, Cross could probably break the table off and get free; that was why Kelly took up a position in the captain’s chair. He smiled gamely as he swiveled back and forth, the chair making the slightest squeaking noise every time it moved.

Ty leaned against the counter next to Kelly and scowled at Cross. His uninjured arm was cuffed to the table leg, leaving the other available for Kelly to work on if he needed to. He sat hunched against the seat, tucked under the table, with his injured arm cradled against his chest. Cross glared between Kelly, Ty, and his gun, which was trained on him where it rested on Kelly’s knee.

After a long moment, Ty shook his head, and went off in search of a first aid kit. He found one in a cupboard by the cabin door and plopped the square box down beside Kelly. He opened it and glanced over its contents briefly before moving to take off his sweatshirt, now with a decent hole across his upper arm.

“Son of a bitch shot me,” Ty whined, hiking the sleeve of his undershirt up to his shoulder. Where his had been a true shot, Cross’ had only grazed him. He pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and set to cleaning the wound, gritting his teeth the whole time.

“You shot him,” Kelly pointed out with a shrug, never taking his eyes off Cross. They’d given him a towel to stop the bleeding, but that was all. He would need medical attention sooner or later.

Ty made a face at him and put the bottle back down, picking up a piece of gauze instead. He pressed it over the graze with a hiss and set to wrapping a bandage around his arm. When it was done, he pulled his sleeve back into place, and spared a glance toward his sweatshirt. He thought twice about shoving the wounded arm through it and stepped away, turning toward the door to the salon.

Kelly glanced at him and returned his attention to Cross. “Where you headed?”

“Gotta go find the other one,” Ty answered, tossing his unused supplies back in the box and leaving it on the counter.

“Watch yourself,” Kelly said lowly, meeting Ty’s eyes briefly. Ty nodded after a moment and checked that he still had both his and Zane’s weapons, then he headed through the cabin for the back door.

He wondered, as he rounded the corner and paused at the ladder, whether they were still on the boat. It was possible they’d gone tumbling into the water, though he figured he would have heard such a noise. He took a breath and started climbing, pausing to check on the situation as he cleared the top rung.

Preston had Zane’s ankle wrapped under his good arm and his calves squeezing Zane’s neck. It would have been amusing under other circumstances, but Ty knew Zane was fighting with a handicap. He had to be going into shock, but he was still putting up a token effort, keeping an arm between Preston’s legs to keep himself from passing out. Every once in a while he’d deliver a quick succession of hard blows to Preston’s leg, attempting to break his hold, but nothing took. Zane’s chest was heaving, but his lips were turning blue.

“I’m tired...of having...my fucking ass handed to me,” Zane panted, gritting his teeth as Preston adjusted his calves.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Preston quipped, but his voice was tight. Zane’s efforts, along with the hole in Preston’s arm, were doing a number on him. The bleeding from Preston’s shoulder had soaked into most of the left side of his shirt, and there were streaks all over the floor to show how much they’d struggled. Preston adjusted his grip again; his strength was being sapped by the blood loss, but Zane wasn’t much better off. Preston managed to get his feet further behind Zane’s head, a preparatory move to either snap his neck or choke him.

Ty surged over the ladder, drawing his weapon as he did. His shadow fell over Preston’s head and he grinned down at the blond man, his gun aimed right between his eyes.

“Damn,” Preston muttered, and he had the good sense to let his legs go slack shortly before Ty knocked him unconscious. He bent down and grabbed the back of Preston’s shirt, dragging him away from Zane.

“I hate mercenaries,” Zane grumbled, weakly pushing himself to a sitting position. He scowled at Ty as he got to his feet. “Next time, I get the dry job.”

“Next time?” Ty asked, stepping toward him. He grabbed a fist full of Zane’s soaked shirt and pulled him forward, pressing a quick kiss to his frozen lips. Zane blinked at him as he pulled away. He was starting to shake uncontrollably. “Just how cold is that water?” Ty frowned, pulling away from Zane. He produced a second set of handcuffs – he hadn’t asked why Kelly had them on the boat – and set about securing Preston to the safety rail.

“Cold enough,” Zane said, voice trembling along with the rest of him.

“Yeah, you’re already going into shock.” Ty swore under his breath as he straightened, and spun back toward Zane. “Need to get you inside. Can you climb down the ladder?” He looked at Zane doubtfully, watching him open and close his hands with a pained expression.

“Th-think so,” Zane mumbled, stepping toward the edge. He moved like he was walking a tightrope, and Ty quickly slipped in front of him to head down first. He dropped down to the bottom and watched Zane navigate the rungs. He leaned sideways, calling through the cabin to where he could just see Kelly’s arm. “Hey Doc, Zane’s hypothermic.”

“Zane?” Kelly called back, leaning so he could see Ty.

Ty swore again, glancing up as Zane’s foot slipped off a rung. “I mean Xander.”

Kelly stood, coming to the door of the pilothouse. He said something to Cross before looking back at Ty. “He needs to get dry and warm.”

“Shouldn’t he shower or something? That’d warm him up.” Zane’s feet finally hit the floor, and Ty tucked himself under Zane’s arm and up against his side. Ty led him into the cabin and closed the door behind them. As Zane dripped on the carpet, Ty looked back at Kelly.

“He needs to get out of those clothes,” Kelly said, shaking his head. “Shower is bad.” The look in his eyes had shifted to one Ty recognized. Kelly’s training was taking over, presenting itself in Kelly’s calm and lowered voice. It made Ty’s skin prickle as he remembered all the times Kelly had spoken to him in that voice.

That was the voice you heard when Kelly was leaning over you, doing everything he could to keep you from bleeding out. He’d heard it plenty of times in the desert, stood shoulder to shoulder with Kelly and offered whatever help he could. Sometimes he’d been the one dying in the middle of rubble and dust.

“Ty,” Kelly said, pulling Ty from his memories.

“You heard the man,” Ty said, turning toward Zane. The t-shirt was heavy and clung to Zane, whose limbs didn’t want to cooperate. It was like undressing a toddler; first Ty had to pull his arms through the sleeves, and then his head. He tossed the shirt to the floor and unconsciously slid his fingertips down Zane’s chest. Zane crossed his arms, teeth chattering as Ty worked at unbuttoning his jeans. The denim was uncooperative and Ty wound up jerking Zane’s hips about as he struggled.

“Didn’t think you’d be taking my clothes off again so soon,” Zane stuttered, his lips curling into a smile.

“Just try and get it up, Shiver-Me-Timbers,” Ty sighed, shaking his head as he fought a smile. He finally got the button loose and pulled apart the zipper, shoving Zane’s jeans down his thighs. The denim was even harder to peel off, and Ty wound up kneeling on the carpet while Zane steadied himself with a hand on his shoulder. “If you make a joke right now…”

“Like a blow job joke?” Zane teased, squeezing his shoulder gently. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Your partner’s giving me a funny look.”

Ty finally freed Zane from his jeans and stood up, looking at Kelly as he did. Zane continued shivering, his broad shoulders hunched inward. Kelly narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Get him a blanket,” Kelly said, leaning into the salon. “Nick’s having one of his men bring him back here.”

“Already?” Ty looked from Zane to Kelly. “Wasn’t he just poisoned?”

“He was, but apparently not enough to be fatal.” Zane said with a shrug.

“He signed himself out, in any case,” Kelly supplied, his attention split between Cross and them.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Zane muttered, and Ty made a noise of agreement. Then he nudged Zane toward the couch.

“Sit, I’ll go find something warm,” Ty said, then disappeared down the staircase.

Zane followed orders and shivered his way to the corner of the couch. He could feel Kelly’s gaze on him, but didn’t look up until he was situated. A wave of drowsiness swept over him.

“Did you say he’s taken your clothes off before?” Kelly asked, raising an eyebrow. Zane couldn’t read his expression, and didn’t feel like trying. He simply smirked, trying to slow the clattering of his teeth. Before he could work up an answer, Ty returned, his arms loaded with the quilt from Zane’s room. He dumped it in Zane’s lap and helped straighten it out over him, tucking the edges under to help trap in whatever heat Zane had left.

“Don’t fall asleep, okay?”

Zane nodded, huddling down inside the blanket. He pulled his knees in close and tucked in his arms, willing the warmth to come faster. Ty thought he looked pitiful, but there were other things that needed tending. In particular, the scowl Kelly was giving him.

“You _slept_ with him? After all the flack you gave me yesterday, you slept with the _bodyguard_?” Kelly’s voice was pitched a little higher and tighter than normal; his changeable eyes, usually calm and hinting at a smirk, were churning with the accusation.

Ty huffed and stepped into the pilothouse, shutting the door afterwards. “Watch him,” he said, pointing to Cross.

“He’s not going anywhere, you took plenty care of that, between the cuffs and the bullet. You gave me that huge spiel about fucking Nick, then you go and fuck Xander?” He threw a hand toward the salon, a tinge of hopeful disbelief in his voice.

“Zane,” Ty muttered, peering under the table at Cross. He had his head in one hand and had lost a bit of color.

“Who?” Kelly spread his hands; Ty hadn’t seen him angry in a long while. Double standards would do that, he figured.

“Xander is an alias, Kelly. He’s one of us.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kelly muttered, dropping back into the captain’s chair. Ty shrugged and stepped over to Cross, lowering himself into a crouch. He reached over and peeled back the towel they’d given him.

“How long before he’s in trouble?”

“It’s a bullet wound,” Kelly said, exasperated. “He was in trouble the moment you shot him.”

“I could do without the fucking attitude, Kelly,” Ty said, twisting about to look at him.

“Yeah, and I could do without – look out, Ty!” A hand gripped Ty’s hair and pulled him sideways. He hit the table leg hard and nearly lost his footing, but managed to keep his balance enough to turn on Cross.

“Son of a bitch,” Ty growled, ready to choke him; instead, he felt Kelly tugging on his arm, and obediently backed away from their prisoner. “Ow,” he groaned, rubbing the spot where he’d hit.

“Serves you right,” Kelly muttered, settling into the chair again.

“He’s an agent, Kelly.” Ty waited for another comment, but Kelly kept his mouth shut, instead glaring at the floor. “Now, please answer my question.”

“I told you, the moment you shot him—”

“You know what I mean,” Ty sighed, leaning his hip against the counter. Kelly looked at Cross and then up at Ty, shrugging.

“A few hours? He’ll need a hospital no matter how long we wait.”

Ty hummed, ducking his head to look at Cross. “Tides sure did turn on you, huh, pal?”

The door to the pilothouse opened, punctuating the verbal jab. Nick O’Flaherty stepped through it, his presence shifting the atmosphere of the room. A black jacket was draped about his shoulders and as he entered, he unbuttoned it with his free hand. The garment was large enough that his injured arm was tucked inside it. The hospital had sent him off in a pair of plain gray sweatpants. Apart from the clothes and the sling, Nick wore Kelly’s marks about his neck. Ty noticed, belatedly, the celtic gauntlet on his forearm.

The crease in Nick’s brow eased the moment he laid eyes on Kelly. “You alright?”

“Just fine,” Kelly smiled. He gestured toward Cross and then set the gun down. “He hasn’t said much.”

Zane shuffled after Nick and stopped just inside the door; his lips were no longer blue and his cheeks were flushed. He still had the quilt wrapped around his shoulders.

“That’ll change,” Nick snarled. He moved to pass Ty, but was stopped by a hand on his chest. “Take your hands off me.”

Ty rolled his eyes and planted himself between Nick and Cross. His head gave a dull throb as he moved. “He’s already been shot. What are you going to do?”

“Something unsavory,” Nick said, licking his lips. He glanced sideways at Kelly, appraising him carefully, then leaned around Ty and stared at the man cuffed to the table. “He slit my brother’s throat. He had his friend shoot me. He tried to poison me, and he took Kelly. One way or another, I’ll make him talk.”

“I’m sure that tough-guy-mob-boss shtick works on lesser criminals.” Ty rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Cross. “And what if he doesn’t talk?”

“Then I’ll turn him over to someone worse. Someone like Liam Bell,” Nick said, his voice low and hard. Julian bared his teeth, pulling his knees closer to his chest as he growled back at Nick. Ty wondered who you had to be for a mobster to consider you a worse alternative.

“Will you use that voice on me later?” Kelly chirped, leaning against the counter with a sultry grin. Nick pressed his lips together, fighting against a smile, and he turned to look at Kelly.

“I don’t want to fucking know,” Ty growled, pushing past Nick. He patted Zane’s arm and stood beside him, frowning. “You should still be sitting, Lonestar.”

“Liam Bell,” Cross spat from the floor, drawing everyone’s attention again. He’d regained some of his usual bite, but it lost some ground after he’d drawn himself in. “I hate to break it to you, Nicky, but there isn’t much I can tell you.” He struggled to push himself into a more upright position and leaned back against the booth.

“You better have plenty to tell me,” Nick said to him, curling the fingers of his left hand into a fist. Kelly slid off the chair and stood beside him, patting his belly. It was a warning Ty knew all too well.

Cross shook his head slowly, his teeth clenched. “All we have is a name and the key to a deposit box where we pick up our payment.”

“So what the Hell was all this?” Ty demanded. Cross looked from Ty to Nick and licked his lips.

“The job was…” Cross paused, grimacing. He rubbed at his arm and hissed. “The job was to start a war. Between you two,” he added, pointing at Nick and Ty.

“Who sent you?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Cross sighed, running a hand over his face. He weighed his options and eventually settled, but he spoke with a snarl. “De la Vega.”

Zane shifted his weight, and Ty met his eyes. That wasn’t good. It either meant De la Vega had lost faith in Xander, or he’d never had any to begin with. Judging by the timelines, Ty was willing to bet it was the latter.

“So you killed a Fed,” Kelly muttered. Ty turned to see Kelly looking at him, and his partner cocked his head. A muscle fluttered in his jaw. “What better way to get us interested in the mob than to set them up?”

Ty shook his head, unable to meet Kelly’s gaze any longer. “You killed Elias for no reason. For _nothing_.”

“It got you here, didn’t it,” Cross said, his eyes never leaving Nick.

Ty let loose a snarl and jolted forward, ready to strangle the man. He didn’t care how long it took, how much Cross struggled; Ty wanted to feel the life drain out of his body and he wanted it now. Before he moved two inches, Kelly’s arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides.

He lifted Ty easily off his feet and turned, so that their backs were to Cross, and then set Ty down on his feet, hard, moving quickly to pin his arms further. Ty struggled against the hold, but Kelly had too much leverage. He lowered them to the floor until they were both sitting, and waited until Ty stopped squirming. After a long moment, he breathed out harshly and dropped his head to Kelly’s shoulder.

“Get him out of here,” Nick said calmly. Zane obediently stepped aside as they got to their feet, and Ty let Kelly guide him to the salon. The door closed behind them.

Nick held his hand out toward Zane, who produced a knife from within the quilt, holding it out handle-first to Nick. “Now. You’re going to tell us everything you know,” he said in a placating voice. He brandished the knife at Cross as he stepped closer. “Otherwise, you won’t recognize yourself the next time you look in a mirror.”

∞

Ty pressed his lips together and watched as two local agents put Julian Cross and his companion into separate vehicles. Knowing his full name didn’t make Ty feel any better, nor did the myriad of extra bruises Nick had given him. Kelly stood beside him, frowning behind a pair of sunglasses. As the cars pulled away, Ty sighed and wrapped an arm around Kelly’s shoulders.

“He deserved better, Kelly,” Ty said, thinking of the way Sanchez had died. After everything they’d gone through, Ty never expected any of them to be killed off duty. Undercover maybe, or working a job. Never in a million lifetimes did he think any of them would go out without their boots on. The thought had been a permanent fixture in his mind for the last six months. Even now, with the killers finally in custody, there was nothing else to focus on. His chest ached.

“I know.” Kelly sighed and wrapped his arm about Ty’s waist. They stood there until the black SUVs left the marina. “So... Zane Garrett?” he asked, drawing out the ‘o’ as he turned them toward Nick’s yacht. “I mean, I just never knew you went for the macho tough-guy type.”

“And what type did you think I went for?” Ty replied, raising an eyebrow. He looked at the boat with a strange feeling in his gut. They’d been given a week’s vacation, and Kelly had convinced him to spend it in Boston.

“Always figured you liked the twinky type. Guys you could just manhandle the shit out of.”

“What makes you think I can’t manhandle the shit out of him?”

Kelly smirked up at him. “Not a damn thing, Grady.” They parted when they reached the boat, with Ty remaining on the dock and Kelly stepping onto the back deck. Zane emerged from the cabin, dressed once more in a pair of fresh jeans and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up. He nodded at Kelly as they passed each other, and came to a stop in front of Ty with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“So,” Ty said, rocking back on his heels. He knew where Kelly would be for the next week, and didn’t relish spending a week in Boston alone. The city was tainted, just like New York. He had half a mind to hop a flight to West Virginia or Philadelphia, but there was also the variable standing right in front of him. He could wish Zane all the best and tell Burns they never crossed paths; walk away from the yacht, from Zane, and pretend none of it happened.

“So,” Zane echoed, cocking his head. He still stood on the yacht, as if he needed Ty’s permission to cross to the dock.

Ty took in a deep breath. “No more Cartel?” He knew it was a loaded question. It would mean Zane leaving behind Xander Garza, leaving behind his case and everything that came with it – especially the drugs. Zane lowered his chin, brow furrowed. Ty had never been the kind to get attached to a persona, but not everyone could shed a lifestyle so easily. He figured, if Zane needed time, he could give it.

Zane nodded slowly and joined Ty on the dock. “I was done before we came to rescue Kelly. Burns has officially pulled me off the case.”

Ty turned to square his shoulders with Zane’s. “So what now?”

“I report to DC in two weeks for reassignment.”

Ty pressed his lips together, fighting a smile. “Shame. I’ve only got the one.”

“Then I suppose we should make it count,” Zane drawled, snagging Ty’s shirt. He let Zane pull their bodies closer, tipping his head back to meet his lips. Zane’s free arm curled around Ty’s back, tugging him up off his toes. A week off with Zane sounded plenty good to Ty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha just kidding there's gonna be ooooone more chapter <3


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